


Better than a Shotgun

by HellenwithtwoLs, orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alcohol, Alot of attempted murder, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassin - Freeform, Assassination, Attempted Murder, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Slight OOC, Slow Build, Swearing, mention of drugs, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2825888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellenwithtwoLs/pseuds/HellenwithtwoLs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas had one job. Kill the Blonde Brit. That’s all he had to bloody do. But no, he just had to fall in love with the boy to make his life that much more stressful. Great.</p><p>Thomas is a trained assassin, hired to murder a High School Student who apparently had shit going for him and his family. Thomas didn’t know anything about him, other than the fact he was British, Blonde, and his name was Newt. If he’d had known he were going to fall in love with the boy, he’d have dropped out of his profession a long time ago.</p><p>Official Trailer for 'Better than a Shotgun' : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siNEdSYJFb8<br/>Video by 'Once upon many fandoms' on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRMBi5WgIno</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so Thomas may be a little OOC but I tried.  
> I have no idea how many chapters this is going to be, but regardless, I will eventually finish it.

“You’re kidding, right?” Thomas stared plainly at his ‘Boss’, a slide of pink parchment in his left hand and a can of beer in his right. “Come on, man. I didn’t drop out of High School just to be put back in.”

“You’re the only guy we have who’s young enough to actually be in High School.” The Boss hissed, spinning around in his broken desk chair, tapping his cigar against the edge of his silver ashtray. “You want the job or not, Johnny-boy?”

Thomas sneered in irritation. “Fine…fucking fine. Who’s the guy?”

“He’s the son of a retired drug dealer. Turned seventeen last month. He’s a student at Glader’s High. He’s a British kid, got more money than he knows what to do with.” The Boss took a single strain from his cigar, lazily reclining in his chair, crossing his legs in an indolent manner.

Thomas furrowed his brow. “Got a name?”

“Newt.”

Thomas almost scoffed. “Got a last name?”

“Nope.” The Boss cocked his brow, staring up at his youngest recruit that stood before his desk. “It’s Newt. His family lives of an alias, so there’s no point in me giving you all the fucking details.”

“How the hell do you expect me to find someone without even a fucking picture to follow?” Thomas exclaimed, waving away a cloud of smoke drifting from the man’s cigar.

“Look Cupcake, you’ll know him when you see him. He’s tall, go by the name Newt, got a British accent, blonde hair and brown eyes. He also sports a limp. Supposed to be kind of a nice guy. He’s about the same age as you, so, he’ll probably be in your class.” The Boss took a swig from his glass that sat upon the counter. “You start school tomorrow.”

“Jesus Christ.” Thomas grumbled beneath his breath. “This better be worth it, buddy.”

“Whatever, it isn’t my money anyways.”

“Who’s paying me?” Thomas questioned.

The Boss shrugged. “He’s a new customer. I haven’t seen him before. Didn’t get a name.”

Thomas smirked. “Alright. I’ll talk to you later, Boss.”

“Good on you, Lad. Good on you.”

…

Fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck-

Thomas slapped himself on the cheek. Out of all the places, it had to be a goddamn High School. Thomas watched in bitter melancholy as teens bustled into the swarming building. Upon the frame of the wide open door hung the words:

GLADER’S HIGH: WELCOME TO THE GLADE

Thomas had to mentally hold himself from turning back and calling quits. His family needed the money, and he needed this fucking job. He wasn’t going to lose his head over a bunch of fucking-

“Greenie, twelve o’clock!” 

Within seconds, Thomas went from standing before the front of the building, to face flat against the gravel pavement. He groaned at the impact of his body against stone and curled into his own chest in an attempt to ease the pain.

“Ah, shuck, sorry Greenie.” Thomas looked up over his shoulder to see a dark skinned boy, maybe a year or so older than himself, knelt just beside him, skateboard tucked under his left arm. “Didn’t see you there.” The boy offered Thomas a hand up, which he took, letting the elder boy heave him to his feet. “You alright there? God, I’m so sorry. What you doing just standing out here, you shank!”

Without any further questioning, Thomas was hasty ushered into the building, as he let a sigh of frustration pass him by. The stranger marshaled him towards a side hall of blue lockers, letting the stream of teenagers flow down the hallway in a deafening ruckus.

“Don’t ever stand outside the doors, Greenie. Unless you want to get crushed by a herd of screaming teens, stay away from those doors.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Thomas huffed halfheartedly. “I haven’t been in school for a while.”

“Ah, sorry. Name’s Alby, Student Council President.” Alby shot him a sincere smile.

“Thomas.” He stated. Alby didn’t seem so bad, at least, so far.

“You from around here, Thomas?”

“No, not exactly.” Thomas shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling a little awkward.

“Ah, don’t worry about it, Greenie. The Glade can be a little terrifying at times, but you’ll get used to it.” Alby assured. “You want me to help you get to your classes?”

Thomas nodded thankfully, pulling a scrap of yellow print paper from his front jean pocket and handing it to Alby. The elder boy examined it over and smirked. “Hey, looks like you’re in my class, Thomas. Guess this should be relatively easy.”

With that, Alby turned his head round the corner of the hallway, and gestured for Thomas to follow, which he did. The two made their way towards class side by side. Just as it was starting to get a little awkward, Thomas decided to break the silence.

“Greenie, is that some sort of weird term you guys use here?” He questioned.

“Ah, sort of. The Greenies are the newcomers basically. Eh, you’ll catch onto it sooner or later.” Alby waved off the subject. “So, where you from, shank?”

“Here and there.” Thomas shrugged. He’d been given specific orders not to give away his ‘work’ or family’s location, so he usually just settled with the ‘We like to move around’ story. “My family and I are born travelers. We move every six months.”

“Damn, must get exhausting. I know I couldn’t do that.” Alby chuckled. “Well, you don’t seem like a total klunk-head, it’d be a shame for you to leave so soon.”

“Well, you got to do what you got to do.” Thomas said with a somewhat despondent expression. He’d never particularly liked his job. The only reason he kept at it was because he was fairly good at it...you know…killing people.

At that moment, a door down the hall shifted open, swinging against its hinges and hitting the wall with a great thud, before a young Asian boy with well built muscles and clean-cut hair stepped out, his arm hanging to the frame of the class door.

“Alby, can you hurry the shuck up? Teach’ is going to be here in like, five minutes.” The Asian grumbled, before taking a side-glance at Thomas. “Who’s the Greenie?”

“Minho, this is Thomas. He just joined today.” Alby informed, clapping Thomas on the shoulder.

“Huh…” Minho gave him the elevator eyes, before a smirk pulled at his lip. “Welcome to the Glade, Shank.” Before he disappeared back into the classroom.

“Minho’s captain of the Runners. He’s been part of the Track Team for about two years now.” Alby said, as the two of them made their way into the classroom.

The room was fairly packed with young students, several rows of desks lining every inch of the room, and a large blackboard displayed at the front of the room. Thomas instinctively scanned each and every one of the students in the room, trying to see if any of them fit Newt’s profile.

“Welcome to Hell.” Alby stated, causing Thomas to snap from his momentary distraction. “I’m kidding.” Alby chortled, though Thomas wasn’t entirely convinced.

The two of them made their way towards the back of the class. Minho had sat himself next to a young girl with dark brown hair, a chubby boy with curls, a dark skinned boy wearing a tattered apron, and a boy with beefy arms and short-cut blonde hair.

“Thomas, these guys are Teresa, Chuck, Frypan and Gally.”

Thomas nodded and gave a slight smile. “Hey.”

“Looks like a shank.” Gally stated with a boyish grin.

“He is a shank.” Minho confirmed, taking a bite of his red apple.

“Could be worse though. I mean, obviously not the sharpest knife in the box, but still, could be worse.” Gally murmured. Thomas felt a tinge of discomfort towards the boy.

“You look familiar.” Teresa stated, tilting her head to her left as she eyed the Greenie.

“I don’t think we’ve met before.” Thomas stated, scratching the back of his head.

“You sure? Have you ever been on TV? I swear I’ve seen your face before.” Teresa hummed, tapping the bottom of her chin.

“Ah, don’t mind her.” Frypan said. “She’s kind of crazy. First day in the Glade, started throwing books at us.”

“Hey!” Teresa slapped Frypan on his arm to get him to shut up. Thomas couldn’t hold back a laugh.

He then noticed Chuck, who seemed a lot younger than the rest of the group, and a little out of place within a crowd of grown teens. “Chuck, right?”

“Yeah, and I know what you’re thinking.” Chuck sighed, scratching the side of his nose. “I skipped a lot of grades.”

“This kid’s smarter than he looks.” Minho stated.

“No kidding.” Thomas smirked. “Must be pretty brave to join a class of big kids.”

“Well, didn’t exactly get a choice.” Chuck admitted, though seemingly already taking a liking to the new Greenie. “But thanks anyway.”

“Hey, anyone seen Newt yet?” Alby questioned, which caused Thomas to practically jump from his skin, though he tried his best to keep his interest at bay.

“I saw him at the lockers, said he’d be down later.” Teresa said, stealing a bite from Minho’s apple.

Thomas felt his heart begin to quicken in pace. Finally, he’d get his target. Once he knew who he was after, it wouldn’t be too long until he had him eliminated. He just had to decide how he was going to deliver his kill. Poison would be expensive, though, if it ever came down to it he could always steal a vile from the Boss. There was the simple gun-to-the-head method, but that’d be too messy, and way too conspicuous. He needed a clean kill. He’d have to get his target alone, maybe even build a trust, before making his move.

“Hey, earth to Greenie.” Alby snapped his fingers in front of Thomas’ blank expression. Thomas blinked his eyes back to reality and cursed beneath his breath. “You alright there, mate?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Thomas cleared his throat and took a seat at the end of the row.

They were about ten minutes into the lesson, and Thomas was on the verge of falling asleep. He couldn’t take this shit. Like, a day of it, he could probably pull through, but he hadn’t a clue how long this job was going to last. It could be weeks, even months. He’d already got enough shit going on in his last assignment. The Boss had promised him a break, and yet, the torture continued. Overtime was practically his life.

It was then that the Teacher was interrupted by the opening of the front door, followed by an abrupt clearing of the throat and a rough “Sorry I’m late, Miss.” in a strong British accent. The teacher merely glared and motioned for the newcomer to take a seat. Thomas eyed with great curiosity, as the boy walked in through the class.

Jackpot.

The boy was tall, but probably not as tall as Thomas, with a fairly slender frame, dark brown eyes and soft blonde hair. He walked with a hint of a limp and carried multiple stacks of papers in his left arm.

He took a seat between Alby and Thomas, and let a huff escape his lips as he dumped his stuff beside him. “What took you so long?” Alby questioned.

“Half of my stuff went missing.” Newt explained, and Thomas could hardly believe that he was only carrying half of his belongings.

Newt turned his head and noticed the unfamiliar face sat beside him. He gave a sweet welcoming smile, that Thomas had to admit was not expecting.

“You didn’t tell me we were getting a Greenie today, Alby.” Newt said.

“Didn’t know he was even coming. He just sort of appeared.” Alby said with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Well, it’s always nice to have something new to see.” Newt held his hand out for Thomas to shake. “Name’s Newt. Pleased to meet you.”

Thomas took the hand, returning the smile to the best of his ability. “Thomas.”

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of you then, Thomas?” Newt questioned, a friendly smirk gracing his lips.

He’d noticed Newt’s skin to be surprisingly soft to the touch, and pleasantly warm. Not what he’d expect from the son of a druggie. In fact, he’d been the exact opposite of what Thomas had imagined. His voice was calm and soft, yet firm and orderly. His features were so picturesque, almost angelic. So much so that Thomas momentarily forgot what he’d come here to do.

“Yeah, I hope so.” Thomas replied.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter is very...VERY long.  
> And kind of boring, so just stay with me here. It'll get better next chapter I PROMISE  
> I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for the lovely comments last chapter xx

“Okay Greenie,” Alby negligently paced over through the classroom and handed Thomas his first blank textbook. “First lesson for you is art. I’ve got science, so you’ll have to hang with Newt for a little while.” Thomas turned his head back towards the blonde, who was still gathering his belongings at the back of the classroom. “Hey, Newt!”

Newt turned his head up to Alby, a smile pulling at the corner of his lip. “You alright there, Alby?”

“Show the Greenie to Art Class would you? I’ve got an exam in five.” Alby pulled Thomas by the shoulder and edged him closer towards the Brit.

“Sure thing.” Newt saluted. “I’ll see you at the Track, yeah?”

“Good that.” Alby said, as he made his way out of the room. “Have fun you guys.”

As soon as the elder man was out of sight, Thomas’ attention drifted straight back to the blonde. “Need a hand with that?” He questioned, gesturing to the stack of books upon the crooked desk.

Newt shot him his golden smile in appreciation, and Thomas felt his heart skip a beat. Must have been caught by surprise. “Yeah, thanks.” Thomas scooped the books from the tabletop, balancing them in his left arm. “Appreciate it.”

As the two made their way out into the corridor, Thomas began to remark Newt’s way of action. His most obvious setback was his limp, which Thomas was hoping to use to his own advantage. Clearly, he’d not be able to run too far sporting an injury like that, though; hopefully it wouldn’t ever come down to a chase. Thomas liked his kills to be clean, quick and faultless. He couldn’t risk causing a scene with the boy.

“How’d you get that, anyways?” Thomas questioned, purely out of curiosity, as the two of them paced down the hall.

“I tripped.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you did.” Thomas said, his tone practically drenched with sarcasm.

“Well, it’s the bloody truth, so shut up about it.” He stated firmly, his eyes turning down to the ground. Thomas noticed the boy’s discomfort and decided to drop the subject. Though he knew if he pushed long enough he’d probably find out the truth, there was just something about Newt’s tone of voice that made him feel bad for even bringing it up in the first place.

He felt his heart begin to sink as the two of them walked. Thomas took a moment to glance over at the blonde. Even Thomas couldn’t deny the fact that Newt was exceptionally beautiful. He’d already decided amongst himself to make his death as painless as possible. It’d be a sin to make an angel suffer anyways.

“Here’s the Art block.” Newt said, stopping outside, before pushing the door open with his left hand. “After you.”

The two of them had apparently been the last to arrive; since the Teacher had decided upon shooting the both of them a glare so lethal it practically cut their skin.

“Sorry we’re late, Miss.” Newt said in the most apologetic voice he could muster.

The teacher merely huffed, as the two latecomers took their seats at the back. “Right, today we’re going to be looking at drawing self-portraits, but before we do that, let’s have a go at some pairs work. All of you gather into groups of two. I want you all to have a go at drawing your partner in portrait. Remember your tones, line weight, dimension etcetera. You have the rest of this lesson to get that finished.”

Thomas watched as the class immediately split into evens, taking a seat opposite their partners with their clipboards and pencils in hand.

Newt let a sigh pass him by. “Well Greenie, looks like you’re with me.” With that, Newt pulled his chair so he was just opposite to Thomas, their chairs so close that their knees were touching, though it didn’t bother Thomas, and if it did he made no notion of it. “You done art before, Greenie?”

“Not exactly.” Thomas admitted.

“Ah, you’ll be fine, it’s bloody easy as Hell. Just got to draw what’s in front of you.” Newt said with an encouraging smile.

The two of them grabbed their clipboards from the desk and Newt handed Thomas a pencil. By the time Thomas had gotten himself comfortable, Newt was already starting his sketch, glancing up at him every so often. Thomas cleared his throat in a moment of emphasis. Well, here goes nothing.

It was easy enough sketching out Newt’s basic face outline, his shaggy hair, and his thin neckline. Though, he found that trying to capture Newt’s stunning features was practically impossible. There was no way in fucking Hell that he could mimic an appearance so pure. He hadn’t exactly noticed it before, but everything about Newt appeared to be flawless, at least in Thomas’ eyes. Drawing Newt had allowed Thomas to examine the boy with careful and intense detail. His big brown eyes, his glowing cheeks, his perfect mouth-

Thomas shook his head, digging his nails into the palm of his hand to bring him back to reality. What the Hell was he thinking? He was getting way too captivated. There was no way he could let himself fall for his beauty. He’d make this job quick and snappy, like he’d promised.

“How you doing, Greenie?” Newt asked, glancing from his page to look the boy directly in the eye.

Thomas smirked, shrugging his shoulders in a clueless manner. “Pretty shit to be honest with you.” Newt snickered and placed his pencil down upon the table next to him. “It’d help if my partner didn’t look like a fucking Greek God.”

Newt had turned his eyes towards the ground once again, a hint of a blush on his pale skin. “Hah, yeah right.”

“I’m being serious. You know how hard it is to draw something that’s so beautiful, it’s fucking impossible.” Thomas fiddled with the tip of his pencil, as he watched Newt nervously run his fingers down the back of his neck in an attempt to hide the noticeable blush that was rising to his cheeks.

Newt laughed, finally gaining the courage to turn his eyes up to the other boy. “Whatever you say, Tommy.”

Thomas furrowed his brow. “Tommy?”

“Don’t like it?” Newt questioned.

“Nah, it’s…nice.” Thomas smirked as Newt nodded and began to fiddle with the edge of his clipboard.

“Alright, Class!” The teacher called, “Break’s about to start, so why don’t you all pack up your things.”

With that, everyone began to slip their papers from their clipboards, placing their drawing tools back into their school satchels. Thomas eyed his own piece of work, not entirely impressed with that he’d produced, but nevertheless, it wasn’t exactly terrible. He’d not gotten the chance to finish, but he’d gotten the basic features down.

“Not bad, Tommy.” Newt said, examining his portrait. “For a first timer anyway.”

“I don’t think Art’s my thing.” Thomas concluded. At that point, he noticed Newt’s drawing placed upon the tabletop. “Holy Shit.” It was practically a photograph of himself. The likeness was so uncanny to the point it was almost frightening. He’d even captured the light scar beneath his chin that’d he’d gotten from his last ‘job’. He’d paid attention to every detail on his face, and the result was more than a little extraordinary. “How the fuck did you do that?”

“My dad’s an artist.” Newt said with a shrug.

“Ah, is that so?” Thomas said, knowing it was a full-blown lie.

“Yeah, he taught me everything he knows.” Newt explained, grabbing his things as the end of class bell sounded. “Well, you coming, Tommy?”

…

Newt took the Greenie out towards the Track, where Minho was making rounds around the field, along with a few other Runners. Alby, Chuck, Teresa and Frypan all sat beneath the shade of a wilting tree just beside the Track, cans of soda in hand and a plate of cookies being passed around.

“Hey! Greenie, Newt, get over here!” Alby called.

The two of them made their way towards them, and Newt gladly took a seat next to his fellow classmates, crossing his legs and leaning his back against the bark of the tree. Frypan automatically handed him a can of lemonade as soon as he’d been seated.

“So, this is the Track?” Thomas said, scanning over the place with his sharp eye.

“Yeah. Minho and his Runners train here every two days. Right now, they’re training for the Grand National Sprint. It’s in about a week I think. The only problem is, Minho’s running a little low on participants. See, a lot of Runners quit after the last Competition. Guess they couldn’t take the heat.” Alby gave Newt a flick on the shoulder. “This guy here used to be a Runner, before he gone and got his foot pulled.”

“Almost glad I did. Bloody hated those Track Races.” Newt laughed.

“Hey has anyone seen Gally?” Teresa questioned.

“Over there.” Chuck explained, gesturing towards the other side of the Track, near the PE building. Gally was pacing outside the tall structure, running a hand through his hair every so often. “Teacher said there was a hole in the roof. Gally offered to get it fixed.”

“Yeah, we should probably help him out with that at some point.” Newt said, eyeing the boy from a distance. “We’ll come back after school tomorrow. It’ll take less time if we’re all helping.”

“Good that.” Alby agreed. “Greenie, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Nah, it’s good. Got nothing better to do anyways.” Thomas stated. It’d be better than going back to the Boss for the next four hours at any rate.

“Alright, so it’s settled.” Teresa said.

At that moment, Minho and the rest of the runners sprinted back towards the tree; sweat dripping down their backs and breathing fast and rutted. “You alright there, fellas?” Chuck said with a salute.

“Shucking tired, man.” Minho huffed.

“Hey.” A tall boy with dirty blonde hair said, leaning against Minho’s shoulder for support. “New Greenie, huh?”

“Thomas, Ben, Ben, Thomas.” Minho said, running a hand through his tussled hair.

“Sup.” Ben greeted. Thomas gave an awkward head nod in acknowledgment.

“Jeez, no need to be too talkative, Tommy.” Newt joked, patting the boy on the shoulder, sending the group to laughter. Thomas was taken by surprise by his touch, but it felt so soft and welcoming, he didn’t mind so much.

“You run, Greenie?” Ben asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Um…I guess.” Thomas hadn’t ever run a marathon, entered a relay or done any form of race what so ever. Nonetheless, he wouldn’t go as far as to say he couldn’t run.

“Well, we’re looking for Runners. Hey, if you think you’re any good, why don’t you try-” Ben was cut off by a side elbow to the stomach from Minho. He recoiled with a choke and shot Minho a glare that could kill.

“We don’t take amateurs, Shank.” Minho reminded with a stern glower. Ben rolled his eyes, but proceeded to keep his mouth shut. “You want to be a Runner, you got to show for yourself.”

Thomas huffed, taking irritation in Minho’s automatic appeal in superiority. Fuck that shit.

…

The day passed agonizingly slowly, and Thomas had sworn he’d die of boredom if it went on for much longer. Luckily, time passed, and Thomas was soon freed from the agonizing torture the school system provided.

The group stood around the car park that sat in front of the main entrance.

“You taking the bus, Minho?” Alby questioned, as the Asian began to walk past the gates.

“Nah, I’m running.” He stated.

Teresa tapped Alby on the shoulder. “I’ll take the bus with you.” She said with a smile.

“Ah, cool. Then, let’s go.” Alby and Teresa made their way towards the bus stop outside the school gates.

“Hey, Thomas.” Chuck called from behind. Thomas turned, cautiously slipping his penknife back into his jean pocket before the younger boy caught a glimpse. “My Nan’s picking me up in her car, you want a ride?”

“Nah, it’s okay, Chuck. I live pretty far away anyways.” Thomas lied through his teeth. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you.” Chuck waved off, making his way over to a black BMW in the center of the car park.

Thomas watched as Gally left with Frypan in a cab, blasting music so loudly from his laptop, it practically broke the window glass.

Which left him idly searching for Newt. Eventually, the blonde emerged from the front doors. Unsurprisingly, he’d been the last to leave the building; his bag slung over his left shoulder as he nonchalantly limped down the steps of Glader’s High.

Thomas made his way over, hand shoved in his pocket, gripping his penknife with great caution. “Hey.”

Newt met Thomas at the bottom of the steps, surprised to see anyone still here. “Oh, hey Tommy. You going home?”

“Yeah, in a minute.” Thomas replied, glancing at his watch upon his left wrist. The Boss was expecting him back down under in about an hour. If he was quick with it, he might be able to get the job done before the end of the day. After all, the two of them were already alone.

“You taking the bus?” Newt asked, adjusting his bag strap.

“Uh, no, I got my ride.” Thomas gestured behind himself; eyeing the red motorbike the Boss had ‘bought’ him last year for his birthday. Newt stared in astonishment, covering his open mouth with his left hand.

“No bloody way that’s yours.” Newt exclaimed in awe, as he examined the fine piece of machinery, a glint of passion in his eye.

“Yeah, it is. My dad got it for me after I got a promotion at work.” Thomas smirked. Over the years, he’d become a substantially good actor, which was inevitable under his profession. “You want me to give you a ride home?”

Newt cleared his throat, running his fingertips along the motorcycle’s crimson plate. “I’ve never been on one before.”

Thomas shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine as long as you don’t let go. Where you heading?”

“Just up town.” Newt stated, watching as Thomas got onto his bike. He opened the back case attached to his motor and pulled out an old silver helmet that’d belonged to his dad.

“Take this.” Thomas handed Newt the helmet and watched him place it on his head. It was a little big, but it’d have to settle.

“Well, what you waiting for?” Thomas chuckled. Newt rolled his eyes at the boy, nonetheless placing himself on the back of the motorbike, gingerly wrapping his arms around Thomas’ torso. Thomas jolted the motor to life, the fierce roar of the engine causing Newt to flinch, momentarily tightening his hold around Thomas’ body. Thomas smirked, finding his erraticism surprisingly adorable. “You ready?”

Newt momentarily hid his face in the back of Thomas’ shoulder, taking him by surprise. He had to consistently remind his subconscious attraction to shut the fuck up.

Thomas started the motorbike up and made effort to get onto the main road as soon as possible. They drove for about five minutes down the road in complete silence, before Newt’s tension began to ease. “See, isn’t so bad, is it?”

Newt shrugged. “It’s pretty impressive, I’ll give you that.”

Now, Thomas had a choice. If he sped up just the right amount, he’d have the opportunity to crash the vehicle in such a way that he’d be able to make his target’s death look like an accident, and escape the impact unharmed.

Though, there were a few setbacks.

If Thomas tried to crash the bike, there was no guarantee that he’d be able to jump off in time. There was also a side note to the fact that he really loved this fucking bike, and wasn’t really getting his hopes up about the Boss getting him a new one. Plus, if the crash didn’t look convincing enough, he could be jailed on charge.

Thomas boosted the speed a few notches, though Newt didn’t seem to notice.

“So, Tommy, how you finding it here?” Newt questioned.

Thomas gave a huff of blasé. “Nothing special. I mean; I’m trying not to get myself too settled. Probably going to have to move in a couple days anyway.”

“Well, where do you want to go?”

Thomas turned his head over his shoulder for a mere second to glance at the blonde. “Nowhere.”

“Your family must be pretty busy. I’m guessing you don’t see them that often.”

“Not as much as I’d like to.” Thomas said, with genuine burden in his voice. He’d never be able to escape the fact that his profession was what kept his family hanging from a lifeline. They lived in fear because of him, and he hated every minute of it.

Thomas ran up the motorbike’s pace, noticeably faster, as they weaved through several speeding cars and trucks. He’d noticed Newt’s grip return, and the lingering silence that surrounded him.

“What about your family?” Thomas asked, in an attempt to ease Newt’s tension.

“Same as you, I guess.” He heard Newt’s voice strain, as though he were trying to keep composure. “My father’s the kind of man who likes to be left alone. I can’t say I understand it, but, it’s what makes him happy.”

Thomas felt a surge of annoyance run through his veins. He’d only ever heard of Newt’s father once before, and that wasn’t even his own kill order, but he knew enough about him to have a clear image of the bastard. To think the man could have mistreated Newt in any way sent his blood to boil, not that he understood why.

Thomas reluctantly sped the vehicle so it was practically racing down the empty road, the cool air around them whipping past like an unseen force. By then, Newt’s grip around Thomas was so strong to a point it almost hurt, though; Thomas had let his mind drift far too distant to care.

“Tommy, you should slow down.” Newt stated, trying to keep his voice as calm and composed as possible.

“Why? You scared, Newt?” Thomas chuckled, almost mockingly, though he had a hard time pulling his own self together. He just had to keep up the act until he got the chance to rev into a crash.

“No, but you need to slow down. This isn’t safe.” Newt’s voice went from calm to concerned in a second, which caused Thomas to swerve a little to the left, almost losing control of his motor, but quickly regaining balance. “Tommy, please!”

Thomas couldn’t take Newt’s words of bicker in his ear, and attempted to block him out. A moment of silence passed, before he felt Newt’s right arm leave his side.

“Newt-”

Before Thomas could finish his sentence, Newt had reached over his shoulders, and gently placed the silver helmet over his head, securing it around him as carefully as he could, and Thomas felt as though his heart had stopped completely, momentarily forgetting to breathe.

Newt’s hands returned to Thomas’ torso, and he sat himself back down, placing his head against Thomas’ shoulder, his blonde hair brushing against the back of Thomas’ neck.

“Newt, what are you doing?”

“If you want to go fast, then I’m not going to stop you. But I don’t want you to get hurt.” Newt’s voice had been muffled by the cold raking air, but his words still warmed like a fire.

Newt didn’t want him to get hurt? Newt cared about him? But…why? They’d only met that day, and he hardly knew him, yet, no one had ever shown Thomas an ounce of compassion before. Not his family, not the Boss. If he died, they’d all probably be better off. But Newt was different.

Thomas had been mentally screaming at himself. There was a side of him that wanted to push Newt off the motorbike and let him die on the road. He wasn’t allowed to care about him, and Thomas shouldn’t have been taken by it.

Nevertheless, Thomas felt himself subconsciously begin to slow the bike to a comfortable speed, and as soon as he did so, he found he could breathe again.

The rest of the journey was spent in complete silence, and Thomas felt like slapping himself in the face. (He probably would have if he weren’t paranoid about losing control of his bike.)

Not only had he failed to do his job, but he’d also managed to let his personal emotions get in the way of himself. He’d totally fucked up, and he knew it.

“You can stop here.” Newt stated. Thomas seemed a little shocked, considering they were still in the middle of nowhere. Regardless, he brought his bike to a halt beside the road, letting Newt climb off.

“Why here?”

“Don’t take it personally,” Newt started, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear, which Thomas found to be adorable. “Father doesn’t like people knowing where we live. It’s just a sort of OCD he has. I have to live by it.”

“…Alright.”

“Good that.” Newt said, his beautiful smile returning. “See you tomorrow.”

“Newt.” Thomas stared the blonde directly in the eye, feeling a tint of pain poison his blood as he said, “I’m sorry.”

Newt simply chuckled, turning his head to the ground. “Just keep the speed down, Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated xxxxxxx  
> (Oh yeah, and MERRY CHRISTMAS !)  
> Is it sad I'm writing fanfiction on christmas day? *sigh*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the next chapter :3  
> So, there are hints of abuse and stuff, so I thought I should just make that clear.  
> Also, I'm sorry that this chapter was literally pointless, but I tried, I really did, but I'm like, really tired right now *dramatic sigh*
> 
> Also just wanted to give a big thank you to you guys who are actually reading this, and I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am enjoying writing it.
> 
> Comments are much appreciated :3 xxx

The room was dim, emotionless, damp, and frightening. Newt sat with his back against the closed door of his room with his knees pulled to his chest. He let his eyes trail across the several lines of artwork printed across the walls, all hand drawn by himself.

He heard the familiar footsteps trailing through the hallway, slower than a heartbeat, and echoing like the resonances of spirits.

“Newton, where are you?” A slurred voice called faintly from the other side of the door. “I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. You can’t hide from me.” The voice chuckled with an intoxicated stumble through the empty hall, the thud of his boots against the wooden floorboards almost masking his hollow laughs.

The blonde let a sigh pass his lips, before pulling his phone from his pocket, placing the headset over his ears. He flipped to the loudest track he had on his playlist and let it go on repeat.

Though, the music didn’t entirely block out the sounds of his father drumming his brutal fists against the door, it allowed Newt a subtle pathway to get away from reality.

It was only when Newt heard the banging stop that he paused his music. The sound of shattering glass rang aloud, and he cursed beneath his breath. Now he’d gone and done it. This was gonna’ be painful.

…

“Thomas. Thomas!”

Thomas shot his eyes open, bringing his head up from the face of his desk, shaking his head in surprise. “Rise and shine, Greenie.” Minho jested, as Thomas slowly gained full consciousness.

Second day and he hadn’t accidently killed himself yet. What a surprise.

“Fuck.” Thomas carded his fingers through his untamed hair. He’d spent most of the previous night reading abandoned files and sorting through the shit scattered around the Bosses office. He’d barely got a wink of sleep, which to be honest, wasn’t so much out of the ordinary.

“You alright there, Tommy?” Alby clapped the boy on the shoulder, trying to bring the morning haze away from the younger boy’s eyes.

“Fucking fine.” Thomas rolled his shoulders with a groan. “Don’t call me Tommy.”

Alby pulled a smirk. “Huh, alright then.”

“What’s wrong with Tommy?” Chuck questioned.

“I thought Newt calls you that.” Teresa furrowed her brow, taking a large bite out of her morning cereal bar.

“He does.” Minho confirmed, placing his boots upon his desk. “That’s exactly why he don’t want no one else calling him Tommy. You catch my drift?”

“Ah, I see.” Alby said with a mischievous grin. “You got a thing for British blonds, Greenie?” Thomas rolled his eyes and rested his forehead against the face of his desk. “Understandable I guess.”

“He’s too hot for you.” Gally joked, causing Thomas to let out a low grumble of irritation.

“I don’t like Newt, okay. The only reason I let the guy call me Tommy is because I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” Thomas stated. At least, he believed it to be true. He knew he had an attraction to Newt, I mean, who wouldn’t? But aside from that, he had no feelings for him whatsoever. At least, for the time being, he’d had himself convinced.

“Yeah, whatever you say lover-boy.” Frypan said, folding his arms over his chest and taking his seat at his desk. 

“Guys, shut up.” Teresa shushed, as said-British-boy walked in through the front door. “Speak of the Devil, look who it is.”

“Hey Newt.” Alby called from his desk, as he took his usual space between him and Thomas. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” Alby stated, glancing up at the lopsided wall clock that hung above the teacher’s desk.

“Nah, nah I just…” Newt seemed a little out of it. Thomas had wondered if he’d gotten much sleep, since his typically bright brown eyes had suddenly become darkened with tired circles of morning. “Forgot to set my alarm clock yesterday.”

“Very unlike you, Newt.” Minho called from the other end of the row. “Someone keeping you up, aye?” Frypan made a wolf whistle, causing Newt to roll his eyes and run a hand through his hair, whilst the group burst into laughter.

As he did so, Thomas noticed something rather peculiar beneath Newt’s shirtsleeve. As the brim of his cuff was pulled down his lean slender wrist, a dark mark could be seen upon the contrasting pale skin on the outer edge of his arm. It appeared to be a wound of some sort, most likely a forming bruise.

Thomas only caught a glimpse, for as soon as his arm was brought down; Newt pulled his sleeves to the palm of his hands, masking the injuries beneath the dark cloth.

…

“Paintball?” Thomas questioned, as he stood beneath the scaffolding that Gally had constructed around the broken PE center. They’d been trying to reconstruct the roof for the last few hours or so. Thomas stood at the bottom of the stepladder, lugging a box of nails over his shoulder, an iron hammer strapped to his belt.

“Yeah.” Chuck said with a jolly smile, as he lowered the empty wheelbarrow to the floor. “It’s kind of an annual thing we do. Every three months, we go down town and play rounds of paintball. Whichever team loses has to buy the other team burgers.”

“Sounds like a good deal.” Thomas chuckled. “What are the teams?”

“Well, usually it’s Gally, Frypan, Ben, Winston and me against Minho, Newt, Teresa, Jeff and Alby.” Chuck said, counting each team member on his fingers as he said their name. “You could probably join Minho’s team if you asked politely.”

“Hey guys!” The two of them looked up towards the scaffolding. Gally and Alby were both peering down at them, as they sat leisurely upon the rooftop, patching up some of the shattered tiles. “If you’re gonna chat, go do it somewhere else!” Gally called sternly.

“Alby,” Chuck bellowed over his lungs towards the sky. “Is it okay if Thomas comes to paintball tomorrow?”

“Sure thing.” Alby replied with a generous smile. “You got to bring your own gun though.”

“Alright.” Thomas said. He’d never actually played paintball before, but it seemed relatively fun, and hey, if he had to be here, might as well enjoy himself.

It was then that Ben and Minho immerged from inside the school building, both carrying planks of wood over their left shoulders, whilst Frypan followed closely behind with a saw in his right hand. “Hey fellas.” Ben said with a salute.

“Working hard, boys?” Teresa asked, as she came down from the stepladder that’d been balanced upon the scaffolding.

“Yeah, unlike some people.” Minho stated, eying Thomas. “You going to do something with them pegs, Greenie? Or you just going to stand there.”

“Shut up.” Thomas murmured, pulling himself up onto the sturdy ladder, causing Minho to chortle smugly beneath his breath.

Just as Thomas was about to make his way up to the two boys on the roof, Alby’s head turned out towards the Track, and a smile appeared across his lips. “Well, look who decided to show up.”

“He looks like klunk.” Gally commented.

“Nothing new then.” Minho said, turning to where the others had their attention.

Thomas did the same, and suppressed a trivial sigh as soon as he did so. A familiar young blonde could be seen limping his way across the length of the Track, his hands in his jean pockets and his head turned towards the ground.

Thomas made a move towards him, but then decided against it, restraining himself before he did something stupid.

“Where the shuck have you been, you skiving slint-head!” Minho called, clapping a hand against Newt’s shoulder in a playful greeting. Thomas noticed Newt momentarily flinch away from the boy’s touch, before laughing it off.

“I wasn’t bloody skiving, you shank.” Newt said with just a hint of a smile, his voice somewhat tense and strained. “Had a bit of work to do in the Art department, alright.”

“You got it sorted then?” Alby asked in reassurance.

“Yeah.” Was all he said in reply.

“Okay, well, good that.” Alby nodded his head, though Thomas hadn’t been convinced. You see, Thomas had been working under his profession long enough to know the basics and impediments of lying. He could smell one from a mile away, and right now, his detector was going off like a siren on an armed police car.

“Newt, where you been buddy!” Frypan called with an enthusiastic tone, as the rest of the group made their way over. “Ben and I went looking for you after last class. Couldn’t find you nowhere.”

“We thought you caught the plague or something.” Ben stated. “Obviously not.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to slip something in his soda next Track session.” Teresa mock-whispered, causing the group to fall into chuckles.

“Where were you, Newt?” Gally questioned austerely, folding his arms and standing opposite him with narrow eyes. The group was suddenly caught in silence, and the atmosphere seemed to grow cold. “Thought we agreed we were all working on this roof together.”

“Well, I had a change of plans.” Newt said with a robust quality. Gally was fairly taller than him, and towered over the Brit with great pride, but Newt couldn’t let himself be daunted by anyone, especially not Gally.

“Change of plans, hey?” Gally smirked sourly. “Bit of a coincidence you just so happened to have work on the day you were supposed to help out your fellow Gladers.” The others could sense the tension build, but no one felt obliged to interrupt just yet.

“If I could have then I bloody would have, and you know that as well as I do, so just pipe the shuck down.” Newt hissed. Gally had placed himself way too close for comfort, but Newt refused to flinch.

Gally shook his head, standing inches away from the boy. “Well, well, excuse me for being a little pissed off at the fact that the rest of us spent the entire afternoon rebuilding the roof, whilst you were off doing whatever the shuck you wanted!”

“You’re getting pissed at me because I didn’t help you repair a bloody roof.” Newt stated, rolling his eyes. “You’re being a little insane, don’t you think? Come on, Gally, you know better.”

“Insane? This isn’t the first time you’ve abandoned us! Every time we need you, you’re never there. You might as well not be here at all! It’s not just about the roof. This is about us, as a team. You, you don’t give a shit about us, do you, so why don’t you just leave.”

Thomas tensed. Before he knew it himself, he had his hand gripping at the center of Gally’s chest, forcefully pushing him away from Newt and standing in front of him as a barrier between the two, Gally’s shirt tight in his right fist. Newt stumbled back a couple feet as Thomas shielded him with his body. “Back off, man.”

Gally stood with his mouth agape, shocked at Thomas’ sudden reaction. “You--”

“You don’t have the right. You don’t own anybody here, so fucking drop it.” Thomas susurrated, spitting his words like venom, his heart pounding like a drum.

“I don’t have the right?” Gally huffed, standing down the Greenie, and Thomas looked just about ready to punch the guy in his Goddamn face.

“Let him go, Thomas.” Newt commanded, once he’d eventually regained the strength to find his voice. Thomas turned his head towards the boy, his eyes being stone cold. “We don’t need no broken teeth over an argument like this.”

“Newt’s right. We’re done here.” Alby stated, deciding to take control. “Minho, Ben, Frypan, you guys start packing up the supplies. Teresa, Chuck, run to the office and tell them we’ll be leaving soon. Gally, Newt, you guys are coming with me, and we’re going to talk this out. Thomas, you’re done for today. I think you need a moment to cool off.”

With that, the group diverted into separate groups as Alby had requested, almost as if nothing had happened. Thomas watched as Alby escorted both Gally and Newt off towards the tree beside the Track. It was only after he felt a hand over his shoulder that he tore his eyes away. “Hey, Greenie.”

Thomas saw Minho stand beside him; a can of beer in his left hand and his hair tussled from running. “Hey.”

“Listen, don’t get yourself worried about the crap Gally says, okay? His bark’s a little strong, but that’s all he is. He just wants what’s best for our Gladers and all that klunk.” Minho spoke with his voice low, though Thomas could tell he was being serious.

“I don’t fucking give a fuck about that guy.” Thomas said in complete honesty, still a little pissed that no one seemed to give a shit about Gally ganging up on Newt like that. Who was he to fucking talk to him like he was superior to everyone else around him?

“Yeah, I know you don’t.” Minho smirked, lolling his head back towards the sky, before turning back to Thomas. “Look, you want my advice, try to get yourself straight before you go straightening anyone else out.”

…

Newt stood in the empty bathroom, facing the stained aged mirror that hung above the sinks. He pulled his sleeves to the crook of his elbows, his fair skin having being tarnished by several purple bruises and bloody cuts running down his arms.

He began to run the water over the damages, wincing at the sting, but continuing to wash them out anyways.

He’d been with his Gladers for the entire day, and hadn’t gotten a chance to clean himself up. Luckily, no blood had managed to seep through his clothes throughout the day. He’d been late to the building sight because he’d been busy trying to hide his scars. It’d been practically impossible trying to cover it up with makeup, and had been rather self-conscious of it.

He glanced up at his reflection in the mirror, attempting to blink the tiredness from his eyes.

He knew his father never meant to hurt him, but it just sort of happened. It’d been getting worse over the past month or so. Their family business had been running a little slow lately, which had started affecting both his parents. His father kept threatening to pull him out of school, and getting him into drug dealing to increase their home income.

Fuck that.

Newt traced his fingers over the rough scars strewn across his arm. It’d take at least a couple months or so for those to heal. He cursed under his breath as he turned off the water tap.

“Newt.” A voice echoed from across the bathroom, and Newt practically jumped from his skin, spontaneously pulling his sleeves down and leaning against the sides of the sink. His eyes shot up to see Thomas standing by the doorway.

“Tommy?” Newt cleared his throat tensely. “Why you still in school?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” Thomas stated. “What happened to your arm?”

Newt felt his heart stop. “Nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.” Thomas hissed, walking over towards the Blonde. He made motion to catch Newt’s wrist, only to have him jolt back, pulling his arms towards his chest.

“I said it’s nothing!” Newt snapped, raising his voice, though he was more afraid than angry. “I fell and scrapped my arm.”

“Bull shit.” Thomas huffed, though he couldn’t help his concern. “Who did this to you?”

Newt felt his blood flow to his head, looking anywhere but at Thomas. “I can’t tell you, okay. It’s nothing. Please, just, forget you saw anything. Please.”

Thomas felt as though he were going to scream, but settled for a grunt, before pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a hearty sigh. “Fucking fuck.”

Newt felt his heart lighten, his usual smile of clarity gracing him once again, as he wrapped his arms around the brunette in a thankful hug. Thomas blacked out for less than a second, taken by surprise by the sudden contact. “Thanks, Greenie.”

Thomas could feel the warmth of Newt’s breath against his shoulder, and it made his heart race. He almost forgot about the silver flip-knife hidden within his left hand.

As he brought his right hand up to return Newt’s hug, his left held the silver blade just behind the young blonde’s neck. He didn’t want to do it, at least not like this, but it had to be done at some point. It couldn’t be put off for any longer.

It’d be messy to do with a simple knife-edge, and if he didn’t get a clean cut through his Target’s neck, he might not die as fast as he’d hoped, and it’d most definitely painful. As the blade drifted just above the back of Newt’s pale neck, Thomas had to focus himself to stop his hand from shaking.

Thomas had done this kind of thing before without so much as a flinch, so why was it so hard this time? His blood was pumping so fast, he could swear, Newt might have actually felt his heartbeat through his shirt.

This had to end now. Newt had affected him for long enough. This was entirely his fault. No matter what happened, Thomas was to kill him now. Fast.

Thomas held his breath, closing his eyes as he brought the blade forward.

“And thanks for sticking up for me back there.” Thomas froze, the blade a hair length away from piercing the blonde’s skin. “No one’s ever done something like that for me before.” Newt pulled away from Thomas, a light blush peppering his cheeks. “So, um, yeah. Thank you.”

Thomas skillfully whipped the knife into the back pocket of his jeans before Newt even caught the slightest glimpse. “Any time.” He said with a smile, mentally kicking himself in the balls.

He’d bloody done it again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Thomas nodded, letting himself relax. He hated himself with a burning passion, but at the same time, there was a part of himself that breathed a sigh of relief.

…

“Hey Boss.” Thomas said into his phone. He was lying upon his stomach upon the roof of the skyscraper, his rifle placed in front of him, as he used his scope to close up on the man sat beside the window of the five star hotel opposite the road. Thomas held his phone between his ear and shoulder as he loaded his weapon.

“Thomas, my boy!” The Boss called down the line. “Busy with work I presume?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Thomas huffed, removing his scope and lining up his gun.

“What do you need, kid?” The Boss questioned. “I’m a busy man. I got a lot of—CAN YOU NOT SEE I’M IN THE MIDDLE OF A CONVERSATION YOU FUCKING PRICK??”

Thomas rolled his eyes, adjusting his phone against his shoulder.

“Sorry about that, my boy. I have a couple of houseguests.”

“I can tell.” Thomas chuckled. “Listen, about this whole High School kill order--”

“Oh yeah, how’s that going anyway? Look, the guy’s kind of impatient. He comes by like every day and gives me a load of shit. So, the sooner the better, alright?”

Thomas cursed beneath his breath. “Fuck my life, man.”

“Welcome to my world, kid.” Thomas heard a suspicious sound of gunfire down the phone, and what sounded like men swearing in Italian. “SIT THE FUCK DOWN!!” the Boss called, and a silence rang through.

“Hey, do you know where I could get a paint gun?” Thomas questioned, as he pulled the trigger upon his rifle. It shot back, the bullet spiraling through the air, through the glass building across the street, and piercing the man directly in the skull. Thomas watched as he fell dead against the hotel floor, and sighed.

“A gun? You got loads, don’t you?”

“No, not a gun, a paint gun, like, for paintball.” Thomas said, frustration tinting his tone as he picked up his rifle, heading back the way he came. Alarms sounded from the hotel across the road, and Thomas simply waved it off.

“Oh, right. Well, I guess you could borrow one from my son. What you need a paint gun for?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Thomas chuckled.

“Hey, as long as that Brit gets a bullet to the head, you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

Thomas hung up and turned his eyes to the sky. This was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I was really tired when I wrote this, so I'm really sorry for whatever this crappy chapter is. But yeah.
> 
> Thanks for reading, stay tuned for chapter 4 :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD  
> You will not believe the pain I have gone through to get this chapter. I saved it on my bloody memory stick, and it disappeared. I emailed it to myself, but for some reason it didn't show up, so I had to search for about an hour to find the file amidst my desktop, and OH MY SHUCKING GOD.
> 
> It's not even that good of a chapter, I was just totally stressed out about it! Legit, I was kind of like "Why did I even make it this long????" and "IT GOES ON FOREVERRRRR" 
> 
> But yeah, it's actually not really of any importance, but I hope you don't mind it :3
> 
> Comments are welcome xxxx

“Holy shit.” The van was enormous, about the size of a single deck bus, done up a dark blue with several silver scrapes running along its length. Upon its left side were the words ‘Gladers rule the World’ spray-painted with abundant black ink.

“I know right?” Alby chuckled, standing beside Thomas, who simply stared in complete wonder. “Took Jeff about a year’s savings. But, God damn, it turned out good.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Thomas said as he cleared his throat, studying every inch of the outstanding vehicle. “Where did he even get the money to buy this?”

At that moment, a dark skinned boy with a shipshape buzz cut and sharp brown eyes pocked his head from the window by the driver’s seat. “Let’s just say I can be pretty persuasive.”

“Thomas, this guy over here’s Jeff. He’s also our long-term chauffeur.” Alby introduced with an attentive smile.

“Hey, Greenie.” Jeff saluted. Thomas somewhat returned the salute, but with a little less enthusiasm. “What the shuck is that?” He exclaimed with a raised brow.

Thomas seemed taken aback. “What?” Jeff gestured towards the large blue duffle bag strapped over Thomas’ left shoulder. “Oh, right. It’s my gun.”

“Shucking Hell! What, is it like a full on machine gun or some shit?” Jeff laughed as Thomas gave a shrug.

“It’s an ALFA Modelo forty-four. Well, the paintball remake at least.” Thomas dropped the bag to the ground and unzipped the main compartment, pulling a large over-shoulder gun from its contents. Both Jeff and Alby’s jaws dropped in complete astonishment, as Thomas handled the device. “I redesigned it into a handheld so it’s pretty light and easy to maneuver. It’s an automatic fire, and does up to approximately seven hundred and eighty rounds per minute. I also upgraded the fire with a silencer and scope so it can be used for long and short distances.”

There was a moment of silence, as Thomas slung the vast gun over his shoulder. Alby eventually broke to a smile and shook his head. “Damn, Greenie. And here I am with a cheap ass second hand gun from my cousin’s house.” Jeff chuckled as Alby waved his plastic paint gun in the air.

It was then Minho pocked his head from the open door of the van, padding already strapped over his chest, cap turned to the back as he eyed the two loitering outside the vehicle. “You two shanks just gonna stand there? Come on let’s move already! Frypan, Gally and Winston are meeting us at the Field.”

…

The van was large enough to hold at least twenty people, with rows of sofa-like seats lined against either side of the vehicle. Windows covered each side, letting golden daylight seep through the atmosphere. 

Alby had put himself in the passengers’ seat up front next to Jeff. Teresa and Minho had sat next to each other, sipping bottles of sparkling diet sprite and listening to music off the same iPod. Chuck sat in the middle of the two rows, fiddling with what Thomas had assumed were some sort of football cards. Ben stood near the front of the bus, scrolling aimlessly through his Facebook feed, changing his status to ‘Paintball is love, paintball is life’.

Newt had sat himself next to Thomas, which he hadn’t minded so much. In fact, he might have gone as far as to say he’d rather be next to Newt than anyone else at that moment in time.

Newt was fiddling with the strings upon his hoodie, every now and then turning his eyes out to the window, and watching as the van sped past the nearby cars and traffic lights, taking light sips from his can of lemonade every five minutes.

“So, who’s taking the Greenie?” Ben questioned.

“Chuck’s team.” Minho stated.

“What? When was that decided?” Chuck protested, looking up from his cards.

“When you decided to invite the shank to paintball.” Minho retorted, taking a hefty gulp from his bottle. “Like, no offense Thomas.”

“None taken.” Thomas murmured, though he couldn’t help feeling as though he’d been somewhat cornered as the new guy.

“Don’t worry about it, Chuck.” Ben stated. “Besides, Minho. Don’t you want someone on your team you can blame for when you lose?”

“In your dreams, slint-head.” Minho murmured with a smirk.

“We’ll take Thomas.” Newt stated, silencing the bus, and Minho instantaneously shot him a snide side-glare. “Assuming you’re any good with that Forty-four of yours, Greenie.”

“Yeah, you better be!” Alby joked. “Other wise we’ll throw you in the line of fire.”

“Use him as a shield.” Teresa suggested.

“He’d make a good practice target.” Ben added.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks guys. No pressure or anything.” The group laughed, and for one rare moment in his life, Thomas felt as though he could relax.

A few minutes passed by, and chatter began to resume amongst the group. Thomas hadn’t known when he’d moved closer towards the blonde, or if he’d even been the one to move, but either way their shoulders were touching, and it’d be a lie to say he didn’t enjoy the company.

“How’d you know it was a Forty-four?” Thomas asked him.

Newt had been staring up at the roof of the van for the past few minutes, and was happy to get into a light conversation. “Oh, you mean the ALFA?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s kind of hard to just recognize, right?” Thomas shrugged.

“Well, my dad taught me how to shoot when I was really young. It’s a bit of a shitty hobby, I know, but I did it so I had an excuse to spend time with him.” Newt smirked, though Thomas could tell there was something bothering him. “My room in London is basically dedicated to artillery. I have everything from silver handguns to Enfield L4 BREN machine guns. It actually got so obsessive that my mother rented out a cabin somewhere in Singapore to keep the extras.”

Thomas was caught in complete and utter awe. Newt appeared so tender and endearing, and in fact, he was. Though, he had a strange sharpness to him that Thomas found oddly attractive. He was bloody perfect in every aspect, not that Thomas would ever admit to that in a million years. “That is fucking awesome…I mean, pfft, whatever. I have a bike. Way cooler than your shitty L4’s.”

Newt laughed, covering his mouth with the back of his sleeve to hide his grin. “Well, isn’t that just great.”

“Hey,” Minho called from across the other side of the bus, “When you two ladies are done flirting, would you mind getting your stuff together. We’re almost at the Field.”

…

The Field was layered with several bumps and hills. Crates, barrels and fallen trees were strewn randomly amongst the grounds. At each end of the field, there sat two large wooden shacks, one painted red, the other painted blue.

“Alright guys, and Teresa,” Alby said with a mock-official tone, causing the group to laugh together, as Teresa rolled her eyes. “Let us begin the Paintball fest! As per usual, it’ll be Reds against Blues--”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold the shuck up.” Minho called, raising his hand to Alby, who simply lolled his head back with a groan of annoyance. “We still haven’t seen the Greenie shoot. I ain’t taking him on my team if he’s complete and utter klunk.”

Everyone turned towards Thomas, and he could practically feel their gaze on him. “Fine, let’s get this over with so we can actually start our game.” Gally stated.

A few minutes later, Thomas was standing by the other Gladers, whilst Alby lined up three sets of empty cans on top of a log. As soon as Gally was out of the line of fire, Thomas was handed a random paintball gun. “Lets see how you shoot, Greenie.” Alby said, giving the guy a light pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll go, one can out of three.” Gally called. “Who wants to place a bet? Ten dollars each to the winner.”

“Seriously?” Thomas questioned in slight offense.

“Put me down for two out of three.” Jeff said, waving his hand.

“I’m one out of three.” Minho said, measuring the distance between Thomas and the cans. It was a rather long shot. “Nah, second thought, put me down for zero.”

“Come on, man.” Thomas hissed.

“I’m just trying to be realistic.” Minho chuckled, standing with the others.

“Three out of three.” Newt stated confidently, which caused an inevitably awkward silence. “What? You guys think Tommy would have a Modelo forty-four if he couldn’t use it?”

Thomas smiled and loaded his paint gun.

“Anymore bets?” Gally questioned. “No? Well, okay. When you’re ready Green--”

Gally was interrupted by three intense gun-shots ringing through the atmosphere, each one hitting its mark, piercing straight through each can with ease, one after the other with an abrupt clang and shatter. Thomas barely even flinched.

He lowered his gun and turned back to the others. “Satisfied?”

Everyone was caught in complete and utter disbelief, their jaws hanging open like dead fish. They only managed to snap back into reality when Newt cleared his throat and said, “I’ll take it in cash, thanks.”

“Okay, the Greenie’s a Red.” Minho announced, before anyone else had a chance to take him.

Gally raised his eyebrows. “Wait, hold on a second--”

“Shut up!” Minho intermittent, snapping his fingers. “Talk to the hand.”

“Ah, God dammit.” Frypan uttered. “We are totally shucked.”

“Well, well, well, looks like we might just have to stop calling you Greenie, Greenie.” Alby stated, clapping his hands and taking the gun from Thomas.

…

Alby had explained the rules moderately well, though Gally had practically dragged the rest of his team away before the briefing was finished. To sum up, each team had a flag on the roof of their Shack. The aim was to get the other team’s flag, whilst defending their own. First team with the opposing flag wins. Five shots and you’re dead.

Minho, Teresa, Jeff, Alby, Thomas and Newt stood round a table in the red shack, all wearing red ribbons around their upper arms to indicate their team. Upon the table was a hand-sketched map of the Field.

“Alright, so this is how it’s going to go.” Alby started, his leader voice playing into action. “When the horn goes, Minho and I are going to close in on the flag by splitting up on either side of the Field. Minho, take the left, and I’ll take the right. Whilst we’re doing that, our sharpshooters are going to take down what they can in the centerline of the Field, meaning Jeff and Thomas. Teresa and Newt, you guys defend the flag near the baseline. Newt, how’s your long-distance?”

“Little rusty.” He replied.

“Well, clean it up. You’re going to be our head-on sniper. If you see anything with a blue band, shoot it. Teresa, you’re going to be right behind Thomas and Jeff. Your priority is to make sure they don’t get shot.”

“Sure thing.” Teresa nodded. 

“Once Minho and I get closer to the flag, I want Thomas and Jeff to become our cover, meaning Newt and Teresa will eventually have to move up to shoot off the attacks from center.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Minho stated.

With that, the air horn was sounded, and Alby opened the front door to the shack. “Let’s do this.”

Everyone filed out, aside from Newt, who knelt beside the open window of the shack, lining his paint gun straight upon the windowsill, loading his ammunition into the barrel of his rifle. Thomas had noticed before he’d left the shack that Newt was keeping three rifles lined side by side at the windowsill.

“What do you need four guns for?” Thomas questioned from the other side of the window.

Newt looked up from his gun and gave him a winning smile. “Save reloading time.” Thomas laughed in veneration. Smart move. He’d never thought of that one before. “Good luck with your first game, Tommy. You’re gonna need it.”

“Hey!” The two heard Minho yell across the Field, as he crouched behind the log of a tree. “If you shanks wanna give up now and just hand over the shucking flag that’s fine with us! Save you the humiliation when you get beat to the ground!”

Four rounds of fire pelted down in Minho’s direction. He ducked before the fire had a chance to hit him.

“Shucking missed!” Minho roared so loudly, Thomas could swear, you’d hear it from miles away.

“What the fuck?” Thomas chuckled, finding it somewhat hilarious.

“It’s Minho’s way of wasting the other team’s ammunition.” Newt informed. “Surprisingly affective.” Newt spotted Frypan sniping from across the Field, and spontaneously took a shot at him. He missed, but only by a hair, as Frypan ducked behind the back of the Blue Shack. “You should get going.”

“Alright.” Thomas said, eying as the rest of the Blue team emerged from their shack, firing at the others. At that point, Minho and Alby began their approach on the opposing side. “I’ll see you at the victory line.” Thomas stated, forcing Newt to hide a grin and shake his head, as he fired another two sets at the opposing side.

Thomas joined Jeff beside a stack of barrels, taking cover as he unstrapped his gun from his back. “Ah, hey Greenie.” Jeff said, as he fired in Ben’s direction. Ben saw it coming and dodged the shots, taking cover in the greenery.

“I thought we agreed we were going to stop calling me that.” Thomas said with a huff. He’d noticed that Gally and Ben were ultimately the attack team; Chuck and Frypan were the defense by the Shack, and Winston was aiming to take down Alby and Minho somewhere behind Gally.

“No, Alby said we ‘might’ stop calling you that.” Jeff corrected, as Thomas aimed his gun, taking a free-fire at Gally, who appeared to wince and fall back behind a tree, swearing beneath his breath. “Damn, not bad.”

“Thanks.” Thomas said with a defiant simper.

“You’re a pretty good shot. You done shooting before?” Jeff asked, covering Alby as Winston and Frypan took multiple shots at Minho.

“You could say that.” Thomas said, shooting up at Winston, causing him to fall back and retreat to the Blue Shack, continuing his assault from there.

“Thomas!” Teresa called from behind, as multiple paint shots darted across the field, hitting the barrels that Jeff and Thomas had taken cover behind. The two of them ducked, pulling their heads down. The blasts continued, and Thomas was guessing the attack (Gally and Ben) must have been trying to take down the defense before breaching the Red area.

“Damn, we’re gonna die if we don’t take down this fire.” Jeff stated. “Hey, somebody take down that shucking attack before we get beat!”

With that, Jeff and Thomas heard unfamiliar shots from behind their defense wall, and the rounds of gunshot on their part ceased.

“Thanks Teresa.” Jeff called back.

“Don’t thank me.” She stated from the baseline.

Thomas then turned back to the Shack, the Brit still targeting the opposing Attack team. Newt noticed Thomas staring and gave him a charming salute. Thomas smiled and nodded his head.

“Hey, Jeff, Thomas!” Alby called from further up. “We’re going to need you guys to change to attack.” He informed. “Minho’s getting pretty close to the Flag and needs backup.”

“On it, boss.” Jeff stated. “Come on, Greenie, let’s show them Blues what we’re made of.”

Both Thomas and Jeff jumped to their feet, Jeff immediately sprinting across the right side of the Field to where Alby had placed himself behind a set of crates. Thomas obligated himself to go the other direction, shooting out several of the defenders. He’d known to have hit Frypan at least twice, and Chuck once.

Eventually he caught up with Minho, who was defending himself by the edge of the Blue zone. The two took refuge in the tall grass, lying upon their bellies with their chins close to the ground, masking their position. Thomas had noticed the Asian had been covered in splats of blue paint, at least three or four times. “From this point, no one knows our position.” Minho informed. “From now on, our job is to defend Alby and Jeff. We’ve got to take down everyone so it’s clear for them to go.”

“Shuck.” Thomas huffed in annoyance. It took him a few seconds to realize he’d subconsciously used Glader’s slang, and as soon as he realized, it hit him like a punch to the face.

“Shuck yourself.” Minho chuckled audaciously.

“Ah, shut up.” Thomas shook his head. He’d been around these guys for a day too many.

“Guys!” Alby called, ducking behind his cover. Jeff made a hand gesture for the two to move up. Alby had already begun to move in on the Blue zone, dodging multiple shots from Winston and Frypan. “Come on, give a guy a break!” Alby huffed exasperatingly, as he fought back with the ammunition he had left.

“He’s not going to make it up there. He’s already been hit three times.” Minho said, shooting Frypan in the center of the chest, red paint coating his padding. Frypan rolled his eyes and repositioned himself at the back of the Shack.

Before Minho had a chance to realize what’d happened, Thomas was up on his feet, out of the grass, shooting out at both Chuck and Winston. They were both hit, and momentarily fell back from their positions. Thomas began to run his way across the Field, sprinting towards where Alby stood up front, ignoring Minho’s calls as he did so.

“Hey, Thomas.” Alby said, breathing a sigh of relief. Thomas nodded, spotting Winston upon the roof, firing at him and successfully hitting him on the side of his arm. “You’re out, Shank!” Alby called. Winston grumbled beneath his breath and lowered his gun, jumping from his position making his way over to the side of the Field. Thomas realized he was out of ammunition, and swore under his breath, slinging his gun over his shoulder. “Think you can make the run, Greenie?” Alby questioned.

Thomas noticed Chuck and Frypan stand by the Shack, ready to defend their flag.

“Fuck yeah, I can make that run.” Thomas said.

“I’ll cover you.” Alby took haste behind a fallen tree’s log, and gave Thomas a nod. With the signal, Thomas dashed across the Field. He was sprinting so fast neither Chuck nor Frypan had it coming.

He leapt over the two defender’s heads, scrambling to the roof of the Shelter. Frypan shot at the last minute, hitting the back of Thomas’ ankle. He’d barely noticed.

As Thomas stood upon the roof, he saw something rather odd. The silver pole to where the flag sat upon stood pointing to the sky, though the flag itself was nowhere to be found.

It was then that Thomas felt two shots hit the back of his padding, and he winced in surprise, turning and carefully sliding from the roof of the Shack. “It’s not up there!” Thomas called, as he raced over towards Alby.

“What?” Alby raised his voice.

“The flagpole’s there. The Blue Flag ain’t.” Thomas said, regaining his breath as his heartbeat began to slow.

“You know what this means, right?” Jeff called behind them.

Minho groaned in irritation. “One of the Blue Attackers has it. This was a shucking diversion!”

“Alby!” The group turned their heads to where Teresa was calling from the far end of the Field. She was retreating to the Shack, as Ben and Gally closed in on her at either side.

“Teresa, Newt!” Minho called, shooting Chuck four times in a row, sending him out of the game. “The Attackers! One of them’s got it!”

Thomas watched from a distance, as Teresa and Newt stood by the window of the Shack. He could see Newt talking to her with a look of uncertainty, before he handed her his paint gun.

Newt jumped from the open window, and Teresa resumed his position, using his rifle to cover. Thomas held his breath, as Newt struggled to the top of the roof, picking the red flag from its position on the pole, dodging several shots from the shooters down below.

“Everyone, protect Newt! Get the Blue flag!” Alby ordered, but Thomas was already gone.

Minho, Jeff and Alby watched in complete and utter astonishment, as Thomas sprinted unarmed across the Field towards the Shack, so fast they could scarcely see him. The three followed behind.

Thomas snuck up behind Ben and ‘accidently’ knocked him to the ground, spinning him before taking Ben’s gun and aiming it at the shocked boy. “Oh, h-hey Thomas. You know, I don’t know if you’re actually allowed to do that, but--”

“Well, you guys broke the rules so I guess we’re all even.” Thomas smirked. He effortlessly shot the boy five times over in the center with his own gun, and then offered Ben a hand up, which he gladly took.

“Next time, you’re on our team.” Ben chuckled, passing Thomas a familiar mud-stained Blue cloth. The brunette smiled, as Ben gave him a salute.

Gally hadn’t noticed Ben’s defeat, and was ruthlessly firing out at Newt, causing the blonde to trip and tumble off the back of the Shack, hitting his head against the roof with an abrupt thud. Newt stiffened as his body collided with the ground, a little dazed as his head hit the earth. The impact hadn’t hurt so much as the aftershock.

He felt as though his vision was beginning to blot. As he tried to stand, he felt as though there were poison flooding his head. He gently touched the side of his head, wincing at the slight pain, and noticed a coat of blood tint his fingertips. Shit.

He was completely out of it. His head was spinning and the more he touched the wound, the more blood he saw appear on his hands and clothes. He’d barely noticed Thomas appear beside him, calling his name.

Thomas was so desperate to keep Newt’s eyes open, he hadn’t even considered the fact that if he’d kicked his Target in the side of the head whilst he was down, he’d have been able to kill him without anybody else seeing, and it’d have looked like Gally’s fault.

Instead, he placed one arm around Newt’s back and the other under his knees and lifting him into his arms, carrying him out towards the others, who soon surrounded the blonde with eyes of concern.

The last thing Newt remembered before he blacked out was the warmth of Thomas’ chest against his throbbing head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shuck it all  
> Shuck it all  
> don't give a klunk anymore   
> Shuck it all  
> Shuck it all  
> Jump of the maze walls, shuck it all (too soon?)  
> I can't take Gally's shit anyway  
> I don't give a shuck  
> The Glade never bothered me anyway
> 
> Yes, I went there. You're welcome.
> 
> Thanks for reading :3  
> IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME xxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have officially escalated the relationship substantially which, to be honest, wasn't originally intended, but...eh, what you gonna' do?
> 
> This chapter didn't exactly turn out the way I wanted it to, but I'm going to settle with it because I'm excited to write the next few chapters.
> 
> Comments are welcome xx (as usual xxx)

Newt woke to the sound of jolly singing from familiar voices and the sight of blinding light that hung from the sealing, blurring his vision with an intense white blaze. It took him a while for his eyes to adjust and for his body to register where he was. He felt something satisfyingly warm against his head, soothing the evident pain against his skull.

He looked up, and saw Thomas, hunched over him and holding a damp cloth to his wound. Newt’s head was rested against the brunette’s knee, his body resting over the length of a recognizable leather sofa. “Hey.” Thomas said, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

“Hey.” Newt replied, remarking the brunette’s light smile that pulled him back to the real world.

“You alright?” He asked. Newt simply nodded, not willing to leave the comfort the brunette was providing. Thomas didn’t seem to mind so much.

“Aye, look who’s up!” Newt heard Frypan call somewhere on the other side of the room. Soon enough, Teresa was arched over Thomas’ lap, briskly shaking Newt by the shoulders.

“My God, Newt are you okay?!” Teresa exclaimed, her voice high and coarse. “We were so worried!”

“Had a pretty bad fall, shuck-face.” Minho said, pulling a wooden seat from one of the dining tables and sitting beside the Brit.

“I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.” Newt reassured.

“You’re lucky you didn’t give yourself a concussion.” Alby stated, standing beside the end of the sofa. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I told you I’m fine, Alby.” Newt said a little more firmly, letting himself sit up beside Thomas, swinging his legs off the length of the couch.

“Well, good that.” Alby complied, giving Newt a slight nod.

Jeff tossed the blonde a burger wrapped in newspaper, and Newt caught it with his left hand. “Just in case your little fall nocked the memory out of ya’, our boy Thomas over here won the Paint game for us.” The Red Team let out a rowdy bellow of applause, and Thomas simply rolled his eyes. “Turns out the Greenie ain’t just a sharp-shooter. He’s a shucking Ninja-shooter.”

“I bloody called it, right fellas?” Newt smirked, and the brunette beside him completely fell for the boy’s winning smile.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Thomas said, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. Newt simply shrugged, the two of them seemingly unable to break eye contact, and Thomas felt his heart begin to race.

“Ah, get a room, you shanks.” Minho said, rolling his eyes and downing half a can of beer in one gulp. The group laughed and Newt felt his skin begin to color, coughing into his hand to shake it off.

It was then that Gally waltzed in through the front door of the downtown burger restaurant, his hands stuffed in his jeans and his head essentially to the ground. He appeared to tense as soon as he saw Newt sitting upon the sofa. 

“…You alright?” He asked stiffly, his voice a little rigid.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Newt replied with a nod.

“Well…good that.” Gally turned his head over his shoulder, then back to Newt and cleared his throat once more. “Look, I’m sorry about…”

“Hey, slim it Gally. It was an accident. You don’t have to apologize.” Newt knew this wasn’t Gally’s usual scene, and he appreciated the attempt. Though, he really wasn’t in the mood for it right now. His head was spinning and he hadn’t eaten since the morning. Plus, it was almost eleven PM and his father had been expecting him back four hours ago.

“Well…yeah. Regardless, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Gally nodded his head and glanced at his watch, pretending he had places to go to avoid the inevitably difficult tension. “I’m going to head out guys. I’ll see you lot on Monday.” Just like that, Gally disappeared out of the door as fast as he had entered.

There was a moment of unbreakable silence, before Frypan made a downward whistle and uttered beneath his breath, “Awkward.” They all began to chuckle, though would probably feel guilty about it later.

“Hey, so Thomas.” Minho started, giving the guy a light slap on the back of the shoulder. “When were you planning on telling me you were born a shucking runner?”

Thomas furrowed his brow in slight bewilderment. “…What?”

“No amateur runs at that kind of speed. Don’t think I didn’t see you back there at the Field.” Minho shook his head in a melancholy fashion. “Sorry Thomas, but you’re gonna have to become a Runner. We need all the talent we can get.” Thomas let out a strenuous sigh. He hadn’t actually meant to run that fast, but when you’ve got enough adrenaline in your system to power a bloody racecar, it kind of gets to you.

The chatter around the room had resumed. It mainly consisted of Winston trying to beat Ben in an arm-wrestling match, and Minho trying to subtly get himself drunk before he went home to his ‘oh so loving family’.

Newt began to fiddle with the frayed edge of his hoodie, anxiously running his palms against the length of his arms. He’d already had enough bruises as it was. If he were able to, he’d never return to that goddamn hell of a house. He’d live with his friends; maybe find a place of his own. He’d forget about everything his family stood for. But sadly, things were a little more complicated than that.

If he ever ran away from his family, they’d find him, and they’d probably torture him until he could barely breathe. They wouldn’t kill him though. They wouldn’t kill him, like he’d begged for a thousand times over. It’d be too easy. Just the thought of what they’d do made Newt wish he had the option to die.

Thomas had noticed that the blonde had grown fairly silent, staring at the floor and soundlessly pulling at his sleeves. “Hey…Newt.” He didn’t seem to hear him, so Thomas placed his hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay--”

Newt winced at the sting and rapidly pushed Thomas’ hand off him. “Don’t touch me!” Newt snapped harshly, his voice as cold as ice, causing Thomas to retract himself, with a simple look of concern playing on his face.

The group had grown silent as soon as Newt had barked out at Thomas. Newt felt his heart begin to ache, and wordlessly stood from the sofa, making his way out of the front door as soon as possible, almost stumbling over his own feet in the process.

Thomas stood almost immediately as if to follow the blonde, only to have Alby push him back down into the sofa. “Let him go, Greenie.”

“What? Why?” Thomas questioned, almost concerted by the fact everyone had let him walk away without a word.

“He just gets like that sometimes.” Minho explained. “He needs a little time to calm down that’s all.”

“And you’ve never thought why?” Thomas huffed, practically fuming as he stood up once more. “Don’t you think there’s a reason he feels so threatened? Or do you guys just not care enough to find out?” A silence fell upon the group, and Thomas felt his blood begin to boil over. “Some friends you are.”

“It’s not that we don’t care. Newt keeps his private life ‘private’ for a reason, Thomas.” Ben said, a tone so serious, it felt close to lethal. “Everyone’s entitled to their own secrets. If he wanted us to know what was on his mind, he’d tell us.”

Thomas could barely take this shit anymore.

He pushed his way passed both Alby and Minho, walking out the door in a great temper, slamming the glass door so forcefully, the impact had caused a spiral of cracks to form at the bottom left-hand corner.

He’d known it for a while now. He’d felt it. All these moments when Newt just gave him that look, or said something that only seemed to make sense. It was unbearable. Thomas had never asked for this kind of pain. It was a aching that burnt the center of his heart like a hot iron. He never wanted to feel anything for the blonde, but he could see the agony that was hidden behind Newt’s innocence, and it made him feel worse than he’d ever felt in his entire life.

He was totally fucked.

Newt had him caught, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape. He knew he had a job to do, and he knew it was probably going to kill him inside when the time eventually came. Subconsciously, he knew if he got any closer, he’d never be able to do it, but for now, all he wanted was to see that boy smile. He couldn’t very well murder him if his conscience wasn’t clear. The least he could do was help him find peace.

Newt sat upon the side of the pavement, his knees hugged to his chest, and his eyes turned towards the late night sky.

Thomas stood for a moment, before joining him beside the edge of the cement, sitting against the ridge of the pavement, his legs rested out over the empty road. A silence fell upon the two, and all Thomas could feel was the cold breeze of night gnawing at his back. Though, seeing Newt beside him gave him a somewhat comfort he never thought he’d have.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Newt said, his bright eyes staring distantly at the flawless canvas of stars above them. Thomas peered up at the sky with a half-hearted shrug.

“It’s alright.”

“You know, they say the sight of beauty is a once in a lifetime.” Newt stated, and Thomas felt a tinge of guilt hit him in the chest. “…I’m sorry for my little tantrum back there.” Newt huffed out a soft laugh. “I get a little petulant sometimes.”

“It’s not petulant.” Thomas said. “Life just gets to you sometimes.”

“…I suppose you’re right.” Newt carded his fingers through his cluttered hair, taking a moment to let himself breathe. “Sometimes life just kind of…scares you. It’s like…you feel as though you’d be better off dead.”

Thomas’ lost himself. He didn’t know who he was anymore. “Life is precious, Newt. You got to live it knowing it’s your last. Especially a guy like you, you’re…well, you’re perfect, and we’d all want you to stay that way for as long as you can. It’s selfish, I know, but…I guess that’s what makes you the once in a lifetime.”

Newt was unable to speak for a while. He’d never felt his life was of any value to anybody, like the world would be better off without him. But Thomas made him feel special, like there was a chance that he had a place in this world. Of course, Newt was smart enough to know the truth, but being with Thomas allowed him to escape from reality, even for just a little while. “You want to know how I got these bruises, Tommy?”

Thomas didn’t reply, and felt like he didn’t need to, as Newt pulled up his sleeves, exposing the familiar marks and bloodstained scrapes. They’d faded in color, but the intensity of each cut and streak was still strong. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I think about it.” Newt said while keeping his voice surprisingly level, though Thomas could sense the agony he bared from the pain in his voice. “They’re from my father.”

Thomas’ eyes traced over the marks, clenching his fists ‘til his knuckles turned white. He’d had his suspicions. He couldn’t explain what it was exactly that made him feel like his body was on fire. Maybe it was the thought that someone so vile and ghastly could have ever laid his fingers on this boy of perfection. He couldn’t imagine Newt ever doing anything wrong in his entire life. He didn’t deserve this.

Thomas placed his fingertips against Newt’s bare skin, though this time, the blonde didn’t move away from his touch. With as much care as he could bring himself to grasp, he held Newt’s ice-cold hand, and laid a kiss upon a bruise that rest against the boy’s wrist.

Newt blushed furiously, the touch so soft and sweet that it made his heart leap from his chest. He could barely let his eyes meet with Thomas, out of both embarrassment and nerves.

“If that man ever hurts you again, I swear to God, I’ll kill him.” Thomas stated.

Newt smirked. “No, you wouldn’t. Besides, you’d never be able to. Don’t say shit like that, Tommy.”

“I’m serious.” Thomas hadn’t let go of Newt’s hand, and he was planning on keeping it that way for as long as he possibly could. If only he knew. “…And, you should stop putting so much trust in me, Newt.” The blonde cocked his head to the left, a curious glint in his eye. “I’m…I’m not what you think I am.”

Newt seemed to shrug. “No one’s ever what they appear to be. But I don’t care. And you shouldn’t either.”

He was right, as usual. Nothing was ever what it seemed to be, and it made him feel as though there were a weight pulling at his heart. Thomas turned his eyes down to his shoes, before laughing it off and giving Newt a positively captivating grin. “You want to go for some coffee tomorrow?”

…

Thomas stood by the chest of draws beneath The Boss’s desk, picking at the lock with a paperclip and the bent edge of a nail filer. More than five years of training and still didn’t have an office. Not that Thomas needed one exactly, but the fact that he was one of the company’s most valued recruits had to count for something, right?

The thing was, most of his pay-off money ended up going to the Boss, and he got around twenty-seven percent, which to be honest, at the amount he earned, wasn’t actually too bad. Nevertheless, he felt like he deserved more. Though, recently his quick-hand blade had been failing him in ways he never thought it would, so he decided that it was probably best to turn to an old friend of his.

Thomas gave a smile of satisfaction as the desk dresser clicked open, its draws sliding out with ease.

Upon each row within the draws were many vials of clear liquids about the size of Thomas’ thumb, labeled with numbers from one to five. Thomas had only ever used poisons once before, and it was for a job that required him to get away from the scene without leaving any trace of himself.

One was a relatively slow poison, though the victim would feel no pain for the first few hours, it grew in intensity and would kill them within a matter of days.

Two was a little more pungent; it would also take at least two days to kill the victim. Though the effects were generally the same as one.

Three was a much more advanced concoction, which would give the victim nausea from intake, and onwards throughout the day until they eventually died. It was used to shut down immune systems entirely, though it took at least half a day to kill a victim.

Four was the one Thomas had used previously. It was remarkably strong and would cause the victim great pain on intake. It took only an hour or so to take effect.

Thomas held a bottle marked with the number five. This was it. It was an odorless substance, which would inflict a searing pain into the victim within seconds. It infected the bloodstream at a rapid rate and would undoubtedly kill the target within less than half a minute. It was the most painful of the five, but also the fastest. If Thomas wanted his target to die as fast as possible, it’d have to be with this.

“I’m sorry, Newt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I will see you guys in chapter six (OH MY GOD)
> 
> xxxx thanks for reading xxx


	6. Chapter 6

The tiny vial in his inside chest pocket was burning a hole through his skin. It felt like agony carrying this thing around. Not only was it illegal, but it was also something he’d never thought he’d ever use on a target to begin with.

Thomas had always known there was something conceptually sickening about himself. Usually, he got excited over being able to do his job, planning out every step, watching as his plan unfolded, letting their blood tint his fingertips, and silencing his target for the rest of eternity. Why now was he so hesitant? Well, he already knew the answer to that; he just didn’t want to believe it.

Poison was something Thomas had thought about time and time again. He’d played the scene through his mind several times over, watching as his target shriveled into nothing but a lifeless ragdoll. He just never thought his target would ever have to be an angel. Newt had taken him by complete surprise. He’d caught the brunette’s heart right out of the sky, and refused to let him go. Thomas didn’t want him to let go.

This was never what he wanted.

Thomas practically jumped out of his own skin, snapping out of his daydream when a certain blond tapped him on the back of his shoulder. He turned to see Newt, standing before him with a hand shoved in his pocket, bag over his shoulder and a beautiful smile gracing his flawless lips. His eyes were brighter than they had been the day before, and it made Thomas feel glad to know he was back to his usual self. “You alright, Tommy?”

Thomas cocked his head and smiled. “Yeah. You alright?” Newt was so close that Thomas could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin.

“I’m alright.” Newt replied with barely a whisper.

“Good.” Thomas felt as though he was seriously going to lose it. “Shall we go?” Newt gave the slightest hint of a nod, and the two of them began to head down the street, side by side. At some point during the walk, Newt had intertwined their fingertips, and Thomas could barely breathe as the boy’s ice-cold skin came into contact with his.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, before Newt gave a laborious sigh. “So, you gonna’ tell me where exactly you’re taking me, or are we just going to keep walking until there’s no road left?” The Brit smirked jauntily. Walking forever hadn’t actually sounded like that bad of an idea. Thomas probably would have to be honest.

“It’s somewhere near my neighborhood.” Thomas admitted.

Newt momentarily shrugged. “What is it with American people and coffee?”

Thomas blurted out a chortle of laughter, shaking his head and turning his eyes to the ground. “Now that is racist, Newton. I am ashamed of you. What is it with British people and tea?”

“Tea tastes way better than coffee.” Newt retorted.

“Tea has more caffeine than coffee.” Thomas stated.

“What? No, no it doesn’t.” And thus began the weirdest debate Thomas had ever hoped to have in his life. Eventually, Newt made a point about tealeaves containing more caffeine than coffee, but not the actual tea itself, and Thomas ultimately gave in to the blond. 

Thomas still felt as though he could have won that debate, but decided to settle. He wanted Newt to be happy (even if it was over a stupid-ass fucking debate about tea).

Once they arrived at the coffee house, Thomas had asked. “What you drinking?”

Newt had simply raised an eyebrow, a half-smile complementing his beautiful face. “What do you think, Tommy?”

Thomas gave a shake of the head, emitting the words, “Tea is for old people” causing Newt to laugh as he went to find a free table. The place was mostly empty; one of the reasons Thomas had picked this place specifically.

He ordered two cups of freshly brewed tea for both Newt and himself. He waited by the counter for the man to bring over the sets of refreshments. As soon as Thomas had paid the man and lost his attention, he turned down to the identical cups of tea before him, swiftly pulling his vial of clear poison from his chest pocket and letting the fatal liquid transfer into the dark brew.

He adeptly slipped the vial back into his pocket without even the server noticing. He’d been sure to face away from both security cameras, so nothing could be held against him.

Thomas spotted Newt by the table closest to the window, his charming brown eyes watching the passers by as the honey-golden rays of light entangled with his pale skin. Thomas made his way over, and placed the two cups before their table, handing the poisoned mug to Newt, though his soul was unwilling to let go.

“Hey, Tommy?” Newt said, grabbing the brunette’s attention. He’d noticed the Brit had a slight blush against his cheeks, and Thomas had to clear his throat to get himself to focus. “You, um…you remember in art class, when we were doing the portraits?” Thomas nodded, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. “Well…um, see, I never got the chance to finish in class, and I was wondering, if you wouldn’t mind, well…” Newt reached into his bag that sat upon the floor and pulled out a familiar sketchbook.

Thomas gave a soft smile, momentarily looking down at his feet. “You want to draw me?” Newt shrugged, scratching the back of his neck, and the brunette couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m cool with that.”

Newt nodded in thanks, and opened his book to the last page he left off, pulling a drawing pencil from his coat pocket and tapping the edge of his page.

“Draw me like one of your French girls.” Thomas said, flipping his hair in a theatrical fashion, causing the blond to laugh into the back of his hand.

“Tommy, I like you and all that, but you’re a shucking idiot.” Newt said, his voice tinted with affection, and the elder boy had to pretend he wasn’t severely effected by the fact Newt just said he actually ‘liked’ him.

Newt began to edit his drawing, for a while the only sound between the two being the scratch of pencil against paper. Every time Newt’s gorgeous brown eyes flickered over towards him, Thomas had to subconsciously refrain from flinching. The blond momentarily paused his hand, simply scanning over the other boy with a tender expression.

It was then, Newt reached across the tabletop, almost taking Thomas by surprise, though the brunette didn’t move. The Brit simply reached across, and brushed a lose strand of hair from Thomas’ forehead. Thomas had only noticed he’d ceased to breathe once Newt had resumed his original position.

“Who taught you art?” Thomas had asked.

“I already told you.” Newt said with just the hint of a smile. “My dad really is an artist. But, we haven’t drawn together for years.” Newt turned his eyes up. “Didn’t stop me from drawing though. Art to me is like what a key is to a lock. Without the key, the lock’s useless. But once you know how to use it, you can unchain this entire world of invention and masterpiece. It’s what I live for.”

Thomas could sense the passion within Newt’s voice was genuine. He put his heart and soul into his drawings, and it made Thomas wonder why someone so pure had to live with the life he’d got. “Why you so determined to get this picture done?” Thomas asked. “I mean…it’s just me.”

Newt furrowed his brow, as though he were searching for a way to answer the Brunette’s question. “Just you?” The blond took a long deep breath, and closed his sketchbook, holding it over the tabletop for Thomas. The boy looked at the Brit in somewhat confusion. “Well, go on then.” He urged. “Start from the first page.”

Thomas took the sketchbook and opened the cover.

Upon the first page, there sat a detailed sketch of an old man wearing nothing but black. He was smiling, and Newt had made effort to capture his peaceful expression. “Who’s this?”

“My granddad.” He replied with a soulful smile.

As Thomas flipped through the pages, he noticed several drawings of flowers and normal household objects, but none of them looked as though they were quite finished, and Thomas had asked himself why.

Eventually he came to several pencil drawings of Minho, Alby and Ben, all completed images. They had uncanny resemblance, and it must have taken Newt hours to do.

One drawing that seemed to touch Thomas’ heart was a sketch of a bench, with Teresa, Chuck, Ben, Alby, Frypan, Winston, Minho, Jeff and Gally, all sitting side by side, eating marshmallows on sticks and laughing together like true friends do. The drawing was one of the very few that had color added to its piece.

He'd also noticed several drawings of the same man on numerous pages, though they had either been crossed out with a black marker, or incomplete. The man appeared to be smiling in each of Newt’s failed sketches, but it didn’t seem natural, like the artist had been drawing from memory instead of life.

There were several more completed sketches of a dog, a golden retriever judging by the pencil sketches. There had even been a self-portrait, though Newt had decided not to complete it.

It was only until Thomas began to reach the end of the book, that he noticed something rather strange.

It was him.

There were several completed drawings of himself, whether he was reading a book, talking to someone, or just relaxing, Newt had drawn at least fifteen or twenty individual pictures of him, and in every completed sketch, he looked happy.

He reached the page Newt was currently working on, and closed the book, a little taken aback.

The boy had refused to look at him, staring out the window and fiddling with his nails. The blond cleared his throat, feeling a little embarrassed to have Thomas looking through his work with such devotion.

“See…the way I work is a little different to most artists.” Newt confessed. “If I draw something that has no sentimental value to me, I won’t finish it. I…I only finish the things that are worth finishing. The more I draw the people I love, the closer I feel to them.”

Thomas felt his throat begin to dry. He didn’t know what to say. Newt had been drawing him because he cared about him.

“…I really like you, Tommy.” Newt finally turned his eyes to meet the brunette’s. Thomas hadn’t ever held his breath for so long in his entire life. “Whenever I draw you, I get a little better than I was before. Something about you just makes the pain stop. I get this feeling in my chest, and…I want it to last forever.” The brunette felt as though he was going to be sick, and everything was going to hell. His heart was beating so fast, he wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take.

Please, stop. Please, stop. Please, stop.

Before he could think twice about it, Thomas had reached across the tabletop, gently pulling Newt by his shirt collar, until their lips met in a soft, tender kiss.

Newt was completely frozen, like time had temporarily stopped for the both of them, and nothing else mattered, because right then, all he could feel was Thomas. Tommy. His Tommy.

The touch was so pure and tender that neither hadn’t the slightest idea what to do with themselves anymore. Thomas would rather die than leave this moment too soon. He was lost to this boy, and there was no way back. He wanted this moment to last for eternity.

The two broke apart, and Newt had felt Thomas’ fingertips brush against his left cheek. Every touch sent shockwaves of electricity through his body, and he’d never felt more alive.

The two only managed to break eye contact when an abrupt smash against the wooden floor interrupted the silence. Newt turned his eyes down to see Thomas had accidentally knocked his cup of tea onto the floor, shattering the mug into tiny fragments.

Newt looked up at the brunette questioningly.

“Oops.” Thomas smirked, and the Brit felt his head begin to spin.

Best day of his life so far.

…

“I can’t do this anymore!” Thomas howled down the phone line, his voice breaking as he punched the side of the brick wall, his breathing heavy with hindrance. He’d never felt so scared in his entire life. His blood was pumping and reaching its maximum boiling point. Sweat dripped down his back, as he rested his forehead against the face of the wall. “I can’t…I can’t…”

“Thomas,” The Boss spoke with a suspiciously even tone that made the boy’s hair stand on ends. “We can’t be having any bugs in the system, not now, not ever. If there’s a problem, I’m afraid it’s not going to cut it.”

“I already told you…” Thomas’ spoke with a breathy tone of exhaustion, pacing up and down the side of the building, unable to control his emotions. “I’m through with this fucked up game. You can do whatever you want to me, torture me, take everything I have, kill me for fuck’s sake, but for the love of God…don’t touch Newt.”

“Thomas my boy, there’s a saying in the world that you and I live in. A trained dog knows how best to kill, but at the end of the day, there’s always going to be a hound with a stronger bite.” Thomas felt as though he were going to explode. His heart had never felt so heavy. “Look, even if I did take you up on that offer, odds are, the guy’s just going to get another man to kill your little British sweetheart. And trust me, it ain’t going to be a pretty sight. They’ll tear that kid limb from limb if they have to. Either you take care of this yourself, or you let someone else do it.”

Thomas heard the line go dead.

He pushed his back against the wall, sliding down the face of the bricks until he hit the ground.

He stayed there until the morning, crying out the name of his angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter xx
> 
> Heads up, next chapter is going to be...very...very depressing. (I'm sorry!)
> 
> but you know, whatever, haha. But you know guys, it's probably going to be a happy ending (still don't know yet, haha)
> 
> Stay tuned for chapter seven xxxx
> 
> Thanks again xxx
> 
> Comments are welcome :3 (And thank you for the continued support!)


	7. Chapter 7

Thomas stared himself down, hardly able to believe that the person standing before him was his own reflection. It’d been a while since he’d taken a good look at himself. His eyes were dark from the restless night before, and his hair was brawled in a scruffy fashion. A web of cracks had begun to sprout at the top right corner of the mirror’s edge, and Thomas couldn’t help but wonder how it got there in the first place.

He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Every inch of his quivering body was sodden with sweat. He’d managed to calm his breathing to a somewhat adaptable pace, but his heart still raced with great trepidation of what came next.

In his left hand, he held an old silver handgun, with five shots left in its load.

Thomas had always known he was destined to die young, but he’d never even considered the fact he might die by his own hand. Ever since he was a child, he’d been confident in his own abilities. He’d never feared anyone or anything, but now, the only thing he seemed to be able to fear was himself. Why did this have to happen to him? Why him?

Why Newt?

Thomas felt a surge of uneasiness begin to swell within his chest, running his fingers through his hair. What was he doing? Why had his life gotten just so fucked up over the last four years? He’d been trained to kill without even the slightest flinch. All he had to do was pull the trigger. All those men he’d killed, they all had families who cared about them, maybe even children they were supposed to bring up. But he’d known none of it. He’d never seen past the money. It’d only been a job to him…until this stunning blond Brit decided to jump into his life.

The very thought of him made Thomas go numb, his entire body soothing as he remembered his gentle touch, his loving smile, his kind words…and everything seemed to fade away into a white blur.

He wondered what he could be doing right now. Probably still doodling in his sketchbook, losing his mind in his own little fantasy. Thomas smiled at the thought. 

He turned his eyes down towards the pistol in his hand, his blood rushing to his head. With a trembling arm, he placed the end of the barrel in his mouth, closing his eyes, and taking a breath.

A sudden ring echoed through the small-enclosed room, causing Thomas to jolt in surprise, dropping his gun against the broken floorboards below his feet, his index finger still itching to pull the trigger. The buzz of his phone brought him back to his reality.

He let it ring for another moment, before making haste to pick it up off the ground, along with his gun. “Hello?” He murmured, barely able to say it without choking on his own speech.

“Tommy?”

He let out a heavy sigh of relief, comforted by the gentle sound of the familiar voice. “Newt. Hey, I, uh…hey.”

“You alright?” He asked down the phone, his voice a little hushed.

“Yeah…I’m just…I’m alright.” Thomas found it a little hard to find the right words, and turned his back towards the mirror. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, are you in a hurry?” Newt asked, a little concern tinting his voice.

“No, I’m not. Don’t worry.” He reassured, biting his lip as he leant against the wall beside the mirror.

“Okay. I, um…I’m just a little scared right now.” Thomas heard the blonde’s voice begin to falter, and he felt his heart sink, his distress immediately replaced with panic.

“What? What’s happening? Where are you?” He asked, unable to keep himself steady, balancing his weight against the bricks beside him.

“It’s just…I mean, it’s probably nothing, but…I think I’m being followed.”

Thomas felt his heart stop. No.

No. No. No. No. No.

“Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.” Thomas said, his words coming out in a cluttered urgency, trying to keep his voice from quivering. It’d been less than three days, and they’d already sent a new guy to kill Newt? 

“I’m outside the coffee shop we went to.” Newt said, his voice momentarily going distant before coming back. “I can’t see him anymore.”

Thomas was already strapping his gun to his belt, unable to keep his panic as an undertone. He shook his head, trying not to give himself a heart attack. “Newt, you can’t stay there, okay? You have to move. If you just stand there you’re a goner, you hear me?”

“Tommy, I--”

The line went silent, and Thomas’ back collapsed against the door. “…Newt? Newt!” He dropped his phone, not giving a shit as its screen shattered into tiny fragments upon the floor, and made his way out, taking nothing but his bike key and his gun with him.

This was all his fucking fault.

…

Newt refused to open his eyes, as his body was pressed against the back end of an alley wall, an elbow digging bleakly into his ribs, and his hands tied behind his back with zip lock handcuffs. He was barely able to breathe, with the man’s hand pressed over his mouth to stop him from screaming.

There were two of them, one polishing his gun, whilst the other held him down. Newt was able to keep his breathing surprisingly calm, his main focus on the strident pain plowing into his torso.

“Doesn’t look like much, does he?” One of the men sneered, looking the blond up and down.

“Kinda’ cute, though.” The other had said with the hint of a smirk. “I’d love a bit of fun with this one.”

Newt’s eyes shot open, as he bit at the man’s skin, causing him to screech at the ache and pull his hand away, staring down at the red mark.

“The fucker bit me!”

“Ain’t you ever heard the saying?” The other man chuckled lowly, a bitter tinge to his voice. “The prettiest bitches always got the worst bite.” He took the end of his gun and hit its metal handle against the side of the blonde’s head. Newt bit his lip to stop himself from crying out at the searing pain against his skull, only to take another blow as the other man hit him in the chest with his elbow, and he couldn’t help but let out a gasp of agony. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Newt was beyond terrified. He’d seen this coming before it’d even begun. It was destined to happen at some point, like it’d happened with his mother, his grandfather, his sister…everyone but him. Everyone he’d ever loved seemed to disappear right before his eyes, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Bloody mother fuckers…” He murmured beneath his voice, earning himself another hit on the head with the back of the man’s gun. Blood began to fall from the side of his temple, and he felt like he were going to faint.

“Teach you to fucking bitch at us.” One of the men huffed. “Bastards like you should have been killed at birth. No one gives a shit about you. Might as well not have been born. Fucking waste of space.”

Newt had heard it all before. Words like that was something he was far too used to, but he didn’t have the energy to bite back anymore. Maybe he’d given himself the opportunity to finally accept death. Or maybe he still had hope in his survival. Either way, he was done with fighting it.

“How do you wanna’ do this?” One man had asked. “We could make the bastard bleed to death.”

“Yeah, or we could choke him until there ain’t an ounce of life left in his body.” 

The men began to laugh like a couple of maniacs, only to be silenced by the sound of gunfire somewhere down the alleyway, and within seconds, the man holding the gun was shot in the center of the chest, falling back against the floor. Newt turned his head in shock, and the other man began to unnerve.

Newt went from pressed uncomfortably against the wall, to rested on the floor, as a man with dark hair and eyes pulled the other man off him and shoved him violently against the opposite wall of the alley. It was only after his vision focused, and the haze escaped his eyes, that he realized the man was Thomas.

Thomas held the man by his neck in a tight grip against the wall, his gun in his right hand as he pressed his elbow into the man’s gut. “Who fucking sent you?”

The man stuttered, caught in complete tremor. “I-I don’t--”

“Tell me who the fuck sent you or I’ll split your fucking head open!” He barked, his eyes burning with a hot anger that scorched through the man’s skin.

“I-I c-can’t--”

Thomas rolled his eyes at the man’s stammering and shoved him to the ground, shooting him in the back of the head with a single bullet, silencing him for eternity. “Go to Hell mother fucker.” He kicked the man in the side of his lifeless body, purely out of hindrance and anger.

“Tommy…” He turned his head over his shoulder, and noticed the blond, his back pressed up against the wall on the floor, with he knees to his chest, his hands still tied behind his back. Thomas immediately made his way over, crouching beside him and freeing him of his restraints, wrapping his arms around him in a devoted embrace. Newt buried his face into the brunette’s shoulder, unable to find his breath.

“Are you okay?” Thomas had asked, sincere trepidation in his voice. Newt was unable to choke up an answer, so settled for shaking his head, his face still in the crook of the other boy’s neck, as he felt himself begin to cry, tears peppering the brunette’s shirtsleeve. “It’s okay…I’m here. I’m not going to let anyone else touch you.”

“It hurts…” The boy mumbled into Thomas’ shoulder. “They’re coming back…It’s never going to stop…they’re going to kill me, Tommy…”

“I know, I know it’s painful. But…don’t worry.” He felt tears begin to brim at his eyes, as he pulled his gun from his belt. “The pain’ll stop soon. I promise…” He held the gun inches away from Newt’s ear, holding onto him as tight as he could, stroking him down his back to sooth his cries of ache and misery. Newt could feel Thomas begin to shake, and tightened his grip around him. “Newt…I…I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Tommy--”

Thomas cried out as he pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not what you think, I promise !
> 
> Sorry to leave you on a cliff hanger, but, you know. I'll update soon, don't worry about it :3
> 
> And I have decided to give this story a happy-ish ending, so, just stay tuned (IT'LL BE OKAY)
> 
> Thanks for reading, stay tuned for chapter eight :D
> 
> Comments are welcome, loved and appreciated!!! xxx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: Guys, I'm going on a temporary leave until February due to GCSE exams (OH THE PAIN!!!) I promise I'll be back soon, and I'm uber sorry about this! I promise, I'll be back as soon as possible :3

Thomas choked as he dropped the gun to the floor, the fired bullet lodged in the sediment of brick beside Newt’s head. He stumbled backward, pressing his back against the opposite side of the alleyway wall. “Fuck!”

The blond stared at him, eyes wide, unable to even breathe, his arms hugged to his chest. The sound of the gunfire had caught him stunned scared, the shot only just missing his head by a hair. It’d taken his mind a while to process the fact that Thomas had actually tried to shoot him. It was the most intense pain he’d ever felt in his entire life. The feeling of betrayal, and worse so, he couldn’t understand why. Why would he do this? Thomas was supposed to be perfect. He was the one who was supposed to save him. The one person left in this world that he still cared about tried to put a bullet to his head. By the time he was pulled out of his daze of confusion, he felt as though he were drowning, unable to catch his breath, and it hurt like searing Hell, like something were burning him from the inside.

“T-Thomas…” He wanted to be sick. His heart was speeding and his head was pounding, everything hurt yet he felt numb. His tears meant nothing yet they felt real to him. “W-why did you…I…”

Thomas had never felt so much agony in his entire life. He couldn’t even look up from the ground. He couldn’t even look up at Newt. Newt. Why did this have to happen to them? “…I told you not to fucking trust me.”

A silence fell upon the two, but it wasn’t like their usual silence. There was a burning in his chest, as every moment passed on by. Hearing the one he cared about cry with such emotive and bodily pain. He’d done this. God, this was all his fault.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry I…” Newt had his hand over his mouth as he began to break down into tears, both fear and resentment taking toll in his heart. Thomas hated seeing him like this. He hated seeing his angel so broken. He never wanted this. “I was supposed to…I’m sorry I couldn’t do it the first day we met. That day on the motorbike, I…I was supposed to kill you…but I couldn’t let myself, God knows why. Maybe there was a part of me that already knew you where the one for me. Newt, you have to believe me when I say I care about you more than anyone else in this world.”

“Why should I believe you?” Newt snapped, his voice completely shaken as he began to sob irrepressibly. “All this time I though you were special…I thought you were different from them…but you’re all the bloody same.”

Thomas couldn’t bear the pain he’d caused. He’d never meant for it to turn out this way. He wasn’t worthy of a life beside this boy. He wasn’t worthy of anything anymore.

“You should leave, Thomas.” Newt stammered over his breath, closing his eyes at the surge of pain that coursed through his veins. “If you really cared about me you’d stay away from me. I just…I can’t do this anymore.”

Thomas stared up at him, eyes filled with regret as he tried to keep an even tone. “I’m not going anywhere.” He stated firmly, not moving an inch from where he sat upon the ground.

“I said leave, Thomas!” The blond grabbed the gun that sat beside him on the paving, pulling it into gear and aiming it at the brunette across from him, unable to stop his hands from shaking, tears streaking down his pale cheeks. “…Please, Tommy, please.”

Thomas stood from his position, slowly making his way over towards him, coming closer and closer until the barrel of the gun was pressed against his forehead. Newt all but flinched. “If you want to…then do it, but there’s no way in Hell I’m leaving you here.” He took Newt’s free hand in his own, not letting his eyes leave him for even a second. “I don’t deserve to have you…Newt. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I just want you to know that everything I’ve said, everything about us was real. You made me into a human being, and I can’t thank you enough for that. You deserve a carefree life, and I swear to God, when I get you out of here, I’m gonna’ make sure you’re safe, and after that, you’ll never have to see me again…I promise.”

Newt had no idea what to think, to say or to feel anymore. Thomas spoke as though he were still the same goofy flawless brunette he’d had grown to love, but he acted and felt like a completely different person, and it scared him to know that the boy he desired to be with might not actually exist.

The Brit lowered the gun, placing it upon the floor’s surface, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat and running his fingers through his hair. Thomas hadn’t been able to let himself breathe, until Newt’s eyes were drawn away from him.

…

“What? You’re fucking kidding me.” The man stood over the Boss’s desk, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lip, as he hunched over the oaken table. “Ain’t no man ever done a job for me and come back saying a kid stopped ‘em.”

“Thomas ain’t just a kid.” The Boss had grumbled beneath his breath, taking a heavy gulp from his full bottle of Russian Vodka that sat leisurely upon his tabletop, hissing as the concentrated liquid burnt the inside of his large throat. “He’s one of the best. You ain’t going to be able to kill your boy if Thomas is out to protect him. Might as well just give up.” The man sneered bitterly, pulling his cigar from his lip and killing it against the Boss’s ashtray that sat beside the stack of files. “What kind of a messed up bastard wants his own son dead anyways?”

“My father’s work don’t concern you.” The man placed a slide of paper on the face of the desk, sealed with a crooked smile. “You tell that Thomas boy of yours if he don’t hand over my brother directly, I’m ‘a find him myself, and I’m a’ kill ‘em straight up.”

“If you could kill the boy in the first place, why’d you send our guys to do it?” The Boss questioned.

“Father don’t want no dirt on our family name.” The man adjusted his collar around his neck and cleared his throat. “But like they say, can’t send a boy to do a man’s job. Just call me if anything comes up.”

The man made motion to leave the room, before The Boss called behind him, “You know, after Newt’s dead, what do you think’s gonna’ happen to you?”

He turned his head over his shoulder and smirked. “Think you already know the answer to that.”

…

Newt sat upon the edge of the bed, as Thomas knelt in front of him upon the floor, cleaning out his newly formed scrapes and bruises with a damp cloth. He winced as the brunette dabbed tenderly against a cut upon his arm. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?” He pleaded, and Newt simply nodded his head, a hint of unease seeming to overwhelm him.

He’d not said a word since they’d left the alley. In fact, Newt had hardly even been able to look him in the eye, and seeing the blond so downhearted made Thomas feel as though his heart were going to concave. The last thing he’d wanted was for Newt to feel so much pain.

As soon as Thomas was done cleaning up Newt’s wounds, the boy pulled his sleeves down to his knuckles, crossing his arms and hunching his back a little. “You…feeling better?” Thomas asked, keeping his voice low and hushed, so as not to intimidate him. Newt replied with another nod, not daring to meet the brunette’s affectionate gaze.

“…I’m scared, Tommy.” He said in a voice so soundless, it was close to a whisper. His tears had dried, but the pain had failed to subside, and he couldn’t restrain the feeling of pure agony that seemed to creep into the center of his chest. “I’m scared, I’m tired, and everything shucking hurts…I just…I want it to stop…”

Thomas placed the cloth upon the floor, before taking a seat beside the blond by the edge of the bed. He knew this was probably too much for him to take. If it were in his power, he’d steal away all the pain, and give Newt the love he knew he deserved. “You want to know something? I used to be pretty good at blocking out all of those crappy emotions. I mean…when you kill people on a daily basis…it kinda’ just numbs you, like you’re not even human anymore. The worst part of it was all I ever seemed to care about was when I’d get my next paycheck. Kind of just saw it as trying to survive…trying to live. But, I guess it was kind of a pathetic excuse for living.”

Newt turned his head, not quite looking up at him, but nevertheless acknowledging he was there, and that’d been all Thomas could have asked for.

“It was…it was you that changed me. I started feeling again because of…because of you. I tried so fucking hard to block it out, but…everything I did only seemed to make it worse…and I couldn’t help falling for you, Newt. You just…made me feel like I was worth something.”

Newt remained quiet for a long while, before anxiously clearing his throat, running his hands down the length of his arms, and pulling Thomas closer by the sleeve of his shirt, and placing a soft kiss upon his lips. His skin was ice-cold, and yet at that very moment, all of his fear seemed to temporarily drift from his mind.

Thomas wasn’t quite sure what to say. All he could seem to think about was the blond angel that gripped to his clothing, holding onto him as though he feared he’d disappear if he let go, and for once in his life, he could pretend like he was a normal human being.

After the two broke apart, they rested their foreheads against one another; taking in each other’s scent, and trying to understand what the other could possibly be feeling.

“What was that for?” Thomas asked with just the hint of a smile.

“It was for…everything.” Newt concluded, and the other boy simply smiled, glad to see him with his usual expression of happiness.

It was then that the blond gave Thomas a stiff punch to the stomach, causing the brunette to fall back onto the bed with an exaggerated noise of sudden impact, curling into himself upon the matrass. “Ah, hey!” He said with a playful chuckle, and Newt cocked an eyebrow, unable to keep a smirk from his face. “Okay, yeah, I probably deserved that one.”

“Ya’ think?” He murmured sarcastically. “Hitman my ass.” Thomas rolled his eyes and pulled Newt by his left arm, causing the blond to fall towards him and land against him with a lighthearted giggle.

They talked for what felt like hours, with Newt’s head against Thomas’ chest, and the brunette found himself beginning to fiddle with the Brit’s dirty-blond hair, his arm wrapped around his shoulders. Newt could feel the boy’s heartbeat through his shirt, and it gave him a certain comfort he couldn’t quite explain. The closeness made him feel more alive than he’d ever felt before.

It wasn’t like Newt wanted to feel safe with Thomas, because he knew he shouldn’t. He knew these feeling he had for the brunette were only going to bring him more fear in the long run, and maybe even lead to his death. But hey, he was still alive, Thomas was still here, and he was finally in a place where he felt like he belonged. Besides, up until this point, living hadn’t been so great, anyway.

As the painful reality of day slipped by them, the two fell into a comfortable sleep beside one another, and could only hope and pray that the morning would never reach them.

…

“If he ain’t dead, don’t even bother coming back.” The rasping voice hissed sourly down the phone line. The man sat upon the rooftop, a black cap covering most of his blonde hair, and an old rifle strapped over his left shoulder. “You hear me, boy?”

“Yeah, I hear you dad, I hear you.” The man had ushered, abruptly hanging up on the grouchy old bastard before he had a chance to give anymore backlash. He nonchalantly tossed his phone over the edge of the building, watching as it smashed against the street way below.

The man chewed a couple times on his gum, staring through the window of the skyscraper just opposite the roof he stood upon. A familiar face slept peacefully upon the bed just by the open window, curled around a young brunette who slumbered beside him. The man sneered, spitting his gum out onto the tiled roof, before unstrapping his rifle and lining it just by his shoulder.

His aim was sharper than any creature known to man. He’d never miss.

As he marked his target into position, he studied his brother with great affection, and wondered how his life could have lead to this. Newt appeared so happy…perhaps a little too happy. In fact, in all the years the two had known each other, he’d never seen his brother seem quite so at peace.

He truly loved his brother, and hoped that one day, they’d meet again, and he’d get the chance to apologize for the crappy life their family had given him. Though, he highly doubted that both of them would be going to heaven after this bullshit.

The man shook his head, blinked his eyes and let out a breath. “See you soon, lil’ bro.”

“Drop the gun and put your hands over your head, shuck-face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it wasn't what you think :D 
> 
> Like I'd kill Newt like that PFFFFTTTT
> 
> BUT, we've still got a little way to go, so, stay tuned xx
> 
> And YES, Newt has a brother because WHY NOT?? (Also, I do apologise for that mini cliff-hanger. I got a bit of a thing for ending chapters at awkward/terrible moments)
> 
> And I just wanted to say a big thank you to all of you who have actually bothered to read this far and actually enjoy this fic and shown your support via comments and kudos (wow, like, seriously) I mean, this is so much fun and I'm glad that I can share my weirdness with the internet. It's cool xx
> 
> Comments are welcome xx
> 
> I shall see you in chapter 9!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while since I updated this thing. Damn, I really am a bad person...aha...sorry.  
> But, hey, only 2 chapters away from the finish line :P  
> Though, looking at the way things are going I may have to do a sequel...or just another story in the same universe, I don't know, we'll see.  
> Seriously though, I'm sorry that I disappeared for 3 months, I know how annoying that can be. I'll keep them consistent from now on (or try to) because I actually really enjoy writing this fic.
> 
> This chapter's pretty short, but hope it'll do :D  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Also, I found a video inspired by this Fic made by 'Once upon many fandoms' : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRMBi5WgIno  
> IT'S FABULOUS

“I said drop it, shank!” Minho hissed, pressing the gun to the back of the man’s skull. The gunman tensed every muscle in his body, dropping his gun to the floor with an apprehensive sigh, putting his hands behind his head. “I know who you are and I know who sent you. Unless you want me ta' put a hole in that thick skull of yours I suggest you shucking cooperate.”

“So, you’re the reason none of those other men succeeded in killing my brother.” The man laughed bitterly. “Something’ funny about that you know. A retired Assassin killing assassins, all for one fuckin' guy.”

Minho narrowed his eyes, his grip on his gun tightening as he moved closer to the man. “How the fuck do you know who I am?”

“Everyone in my world knows who you are.” He stated. “You used to be one of the world’s leading Hitmen. The people used to adore your work. Three years ago, you were given a job to kill my brother Newton...but for some reason you couldn't do it. You just…vanished. And now, here you are, still stalking my lil’ bro, but this time not to kill…to protect. I'd heard rumours, but I never thought it'd be true.”

“Slim it shuck-face! I know my own shucking life story.” Minho brutally kicked the man in the side of the ribs with the edge of his leather boot, causing him to fall and bash his head against the concrete, landing with a groan. “Have fun in hell, ya’ piece of shit.” Minho smirked as he aimed his gun at the man’s head.

“He’s one of ‘em, you know.” The man muttered.

Minho paused. “…What?”

He began to chortle beneath his breath like a madman, still clutching at his beaten side. “That Thomas boy. I suppose you wouldn’t know since you’ve been out of the business so long--”

“Get to the shucking point!” Minho barked impatiently, a twitch in his eye. This man was seriously starting to get on his last fucking nerve. If he weren’t withholding information, he’d probably have murdered the guy in a heartbeat.

“Thomas Edison is one of the world’s youngest and most successful Assassins.”

Minho felt his heart stop for a mere second, his heart sinking to his stomach as he stumbled back two steps, giving a slight twitch as though unsure he'd heard the man correctly. “…Wait what are you saying?”

The man gave a cocky grin and rolled his eyes. “I’m saying that that bloody bastard was hired to kill my lil' brother. To think, you wanted to protect Newt from people like me when Thomas was sitting right under your nose all this time. You know you really should be a lot more careful around str--” Minho silenced the man with a single pull of the trigger right between his eyes, the man falling completely still and lifeless within half a second.

Blood began to tint the bottom of Minho’s shoes, not that he noticed or allowed himself to. He simply stood there; unable to believe that the man he’d grown to trust could possibly be an Assassin. Then again…

It all made sense now.

The way Thomas knew so much about guns. The way he reacted violently within any complicated situation. The way he was able to sharp shoot like a soldier. How had he not noticed? How could he have been so blind? He had to do something…before something happened to Newt.

Three years ago, he'd never planned to befriend Newt, it just sort of happened. And after building such a strong relationship with him...he had no other choice but to abandon his mission.

He couldn’t let his best friend get hurt…he just couldn’t.

…

“Would you quit moving for one bloody minute?” Newt chuckled, sitting opposite Thomas on the bed, drawing the brunette on the back of a train map. Thomas simply rolled his eyes and gave a heavy sigh of complaint.

“I’m so booored.” He grumbled childishly.

“Tommy, you’ve been sitting there for ten buggin’ minutes.” Newt said with an irresistible smile. “Just grin and bear it.” At which point the brunette pulled the most sadistic frown he could bring himself to muster and the blond burst into a laughing fit. Thomas couldn’t help but feel a warmth of accomplishment, having been able to see Newt’s smiling face again. Just being able to hear the sound of that boy's beautifully sweet laughter made him feel so much better about…well everything.

He watched affectionately as Newt concentrated on drawing him, glancing up at him every few seconds and pulling a small smile each time he did so. “You know,” Thomas said cheekily, “keep drawing my face like that and you’ll start to get sick of looking at it.”

Newt raised an eyebrow. “I bloody doubt that.”

“Oh, so you’re already sick of me I presume.” Thomas joked and Newt simply shook his head with a smirk.

“What, aside from the almost shootin’ me in the buggin’ head thing?”

“Hey, too soon bro.” Thomas coughed and Newt couldn’t help but laugh.

Suddenly, there was a slight creek, similar to the sound of a lose floorboard, and Thomas froze stiff, instinctively reaching for his gun on his belt, causing Newt to grow weary. It'd only been the slightest noise, but Thomas knew he heard something, and for a minute, slowed his breathing to allow himself to focus. Being an assassin meant always being cautious, even if it were the tiniest of things.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what… you alright Tommy?” Newt asked with genuine concern in his tone. Thomas turned towards the door, slowly pushing himself off of the bed and drawing his gun. The sound came again, and Thomas put one hand against the wall. He’d been in situations like these before. He could sense someone else was here, though he managed to keep himself levelheaded. The sound came again, only the slightest bit louder, and by then, his suspicions had been confirmed. “Tommy?”

“…We’re not alone.”

The door swung open and Thomas prepared to fire only to find himself aiming his gun at a familiar face.

Minho stood by the open doorway, a gun pointed directly at the brunette’s head and Thomas had to stop himself from stepping backwards out of shock, blinking his eyes twice over to check he wasn’t imagining the man he saw before him. “…Minho?”

“Put down the gun, Thomas.” Minho hissed, his dark eyes not leaving Thomas for even a second.

Newt jumped off of the bed, eyes wide in disbelief. What the hell was happening? “Minho, what the bloody hell are you doing?” he exclaimed, his mind completely befuddled.

Thomas still stood strong, refusing to lower his weapon. For all he knew, Minho could have been out to kill Newt all this time, though the other declined to back down as the two squared each other up. “I said put the shucking gun down Thomas!”

“Minho stop, this is insane!” Newt called in a panic, his heart racing as he made way to stand in between the two, causing both men to flinch, but not lower their guns.

“Newt, Thomas isn’t who you think he is, he’s an assassin.” Minho stated, a cold look in his eye that could chill almost anybody to the bone. "He was sent to kill you."

“I know what he is, Min’!” Newt began to raise his voice, his alarm with the situation causing him to grow uneasy, so much so he felt as though he might just faint.

“…Wait, what do you mean?” Minho asked in confusion.

The brunette momentarily glanced at Newt who’d grown moderately pale. The blond was so worked up, Thomas could hear his heavy breaths from where he stood, and it made him feel guilty. How did Minho find out about him? How did he break in without Thomas noticing before it was too late for him to do anything? Nothing made any sense.

“I was hired by an anonymous client to murder Newt for up-front pay. It was more money than I’d ever been offered in my lifetime...but I couldn’t bring myself to kill him." Thomas cleared his throat, the thought of what would have happened if that bullet hadn't missed made his blood run cold. "The Boss started getting impatient, and things kind of escalated from there.” Thomas exhaled slowly and decided to lower his gun, placing it back on his belt and allowing himself to calm down.

Newt turned to Thomas and wrapped his arms around him, finding it easier to take in the situation being nearer to the brunette. It made him feel safer, despite there being a gun pulled on Thomas.

“I couldn’t kill Newt because I fell in love with him.” Thomas stated, causing Newt to flinch, though still pressing his head up against his chest. He could hear his heartbeat through his shirt, how it sped up at the thought of him. He knew his love was real. “Killing him would have been worse than any pain in the world…”

“Who’s your Boss?” Minho stated, his gun still drawn, though his tone was relaxed. “His name, what was it?”

Thomas raised his eyebrow. “…Why do you--”

“Just say it.” Minho demanded.

“…Everyone calls him Boss, but...his real name’s Jasper Barone.” Thomas said as calmly as he could.

At which point, Minho gave a somewhat strange smile before lowering his gun. “Man…this is some shucked up klunk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :P  
> FYI, I'm planning to update within the next 3-5 days. If I don't, please feel free to harass me until the end of time :D  
> ALRIGHT! Thanks again xxx


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, long story short I almost didn't finish this chapter *sigh* yes, I know, I'm bad with deadlines GOD. (I'm also a class one procrastinator...pfffttt)
> 
> Just wanted to say a big thanks to my boyfriend Jackson ('JacksTheRunner') for motivating me to write this shit today. Seriously, I almost couldn't be bothered. This man is a saint.
> 
> AAND, one last thing. If you haven't already, you should check out my friend's new 'Better than a Shotgun fanfic trailer'. It's amazing and she's just so good at what she does :3  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siNEdSYJFb8
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! :D

“Barone took me on as an apprentice when I was a kid, taught me how to kill.” Minho, Thomas and Newt sat at the far end of a local pub. It was fairly empty for a weeknight, with no one but the three of them sitting at the end of the drinks bar. Minho took another large gulp of beer before grumbling beneath his breath and placing the cup back down onto the tabletop. “I was given a job to kill this shank about three years ago.” He said, pointing a finger in the blonde’s direction, though Newt didn’t seem to react much to the situation. He simply stared down at the floor, tapping his fingers upon the bar counter. “Turns out I’m too much of a shuck-faced bastard to kill this guy.”

Thomas chuckled, finding their state in time to be rather ironic. “Amen to that.”

“God I fucking hate this.” Newt murmured beneath his breath. He couldn’t bring himself to understand how his life had gotten so fucked up, though; if he were to be completely honest with himself it was never all that perfect to begin with. Thomas frowned and wrapped a comforting arm round the blonde’s shoulders. Newt sighed and rested his head against Thomas’ shoulder.

No matter how close he seemed to get to Thomas, he always felt as though he were too far away, like he wanted to be stuck with him for as long as he possibly could. It was as though being away from him would mean losing a part of himself. Despite all the shit that went on in his life, having Thomas close to his heart made him feel almost as if he could be happy again.

Maybe some day.

“I don’t wanna’ go back, Tommy.” Newt said so soundlessly the brunette almost didn’t catch it. “He’s gonna’ kill me.”

“Not if we kill him first.” Minho murmured behind his glass.

“That’s not buggin’ funny.” Newt stated bluntly.

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” Minho placed his drink down and carded his fingers through his hair. “Look, Newt, I know this is gonna’ be hard for you to hear, and I really don’t want to do something like this, but your father’s left us with no choice--”

“I know.” Newt spoke in barely a whisper, his voice scarcely level. Thomas could hear the fear in his tone and he couldn’t help but hold on tighter to the young blond in a comforting embrace. “S’just…if that man dies, I ain’t gonna’ have anyone left. Everyone I cared for as a child, all dead an’ gone. I ain’t gonna’ sit back and watch that happen to him. Bein’ alone in this shucked up world is worse than bein’ dead.” Thomas felt a slight pain in his chest as Newt pushed him off his shoulders and crossed his arms in a distant manner. He hated seeing him like this. 

“Shit, it’s getting late.” Minho said as he rolled his shoulders back, giving a fatigued stretch. “We can talk about this tomorrow, but you know something’s gonna’ have to be done.”

“Yeah…” Newt rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Um…Thomas? Is it okay if I stay at your apartment…for a little while?”

“Yeah, sure. Anything you need.” He didn’t like the idea of Newt staying either by himself or with his father, on top of the fact this had probably been the longest day of their lives. No man deserved that kind of pressure, especially not Newt.

…

The journey home consisted of nothing but dead silence.

Thomas hadn’t minded so much. He cared most about Newt’s well being than anything else. If silence was what he needed right now, then he was happy to oblige. As soon as they’d arrived back at Thomas’ apartment, Newt sat himself upon the sofa and pulled his knees to his chest, fiddling with the tips of his fingers in a vague attempt to distract himself from the real world. It was only after Thomas got out of the shower, changed his clothes and came back into the living room that Newt began to speak.

“Why didn’t you buggin’ kill me, Tommy?”

Thomas paused by the doorway, caught off guard by the sudden volubility. “What?”

“Tell me why you didn’t kill me.” Newt said again, though sounding more desperate for an answer than demanding.

Thomas didn’t move for a good long moment, before shoving his hands in his pockets and slowly pacing over to sit by Newt on the sofa. “I kind of assumed you knew why by now.”

“You know…a part of me really wishes that bloody bullet had reached my head.” Thomas opened his mouth to give a reply but found no words could describe the way he felt. His heart only continued to sink. Newt shook his head and rubbed the side of his temple with his finger. “I’m sorry. You…you didn’t need to hear that. It’s just…ain’t you ever just felt…tired? I’ve been tired for about fifteen years, Tommy. Now that death ain’t actually happened yet, I’ll be spending the rest of my life waiting for it. I know he’s gonna’ kill me. I just don’t know when…and I’d have rather died lying next to you than with just any old bastard my father decides to pay off.”

“Newt, I didn’t kill you because I need you, don’t you understand that?” Newt was taken aback by the brunet’s sudden tone. He sounded aggravated, almost angry. “I need you. I’m a selfish fucked up bastard and I need you. I’m never going to let you die, Newt. If you die…I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

Newt could barely believe someone could care this much for him. It’d been so overwhelming, he’d almost forgotten how to breathe. “…Why…just…out of all people, why the bloody hell’d you pick someone like me?”

“Because, believe it or not, I’m fucking in love with you.” Thomas uttered stubbornly. The fact that the one person he cared about so dearly kept talking about wanting to die made him feel as though he was going to be sick. The very idea of never being able to see Newt again made his mind lose all faith in anything. He couldn't bear it.

The blond finally allowed himself to look up at Thomas, who only sat only an inch away from him, watching his every move. Newt suddenly found himself lost in the brunet’s dark focused eyes, the light scars upon his chin and neck, the slight tan line by the neck of his t-shirt. Everything about Thomas made him feel so warm with a hint of uncertainty. The brunet reached his left hand to move a strand of Newt’s golden hair behind his ear, pausing before gently brushing his fingertips against his cheek, scarcely grazing the corner of his lip. Newt felt his heart begin to race as he felt the warmth of Thomas’ breath against his cool skin, making him shiver. What was this strange feeling?

“I love you too,” Newt whispered softly, slowly pulling Thomas closer towards him and catching him in a gentle kiss, the welcoming feeling of having the brunet’s lips against his making him feel as though he were an ice cube in the sunlight.

It was perfect. Everything was perfect.

…

Thomas woke the next morning to a sudden bang.

He opened his eyes and the first thing he noticed was the empty space beside him on the bed where Newt had been before they fell asleep. Panic welled in his stomach as he scrambled to his feet. He began calling out his name yet no reply followed as he paced down the corridor, checking each and every room, until he finally came to the main entrance of the apartment, and felt something in his heart begin to shatter. Thomas hadn't known the true meaning of pain. He'd never known what emptiness felt like. He'd never known what it meant to feel a current worse than death itself.

Until now.

The front door stood wide open with the lock completely destroyed. The window beside the cabinet had been broken from its place and a light trail if blood lay upon the floor. Upon the face of the busted door sat a tattered note made from newspaper clippings.

‘I have reclaimed my son. Call the police and he dies. If you ever wish to see him again, come find me. Be unarmed.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...there you go, haha. WE'RE ALMOST AT THE END GUYS. DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW SAD THAT IS?? NO MORE BETTER THAN A SHOTGUN *gasp* *cries in the corner*
> 
> I'm going away to the UK soon so I may not be able to update very soon *sigh* but I will TRY to keep to my schedule.
> 
> And once again, if my chapter comes late FEEL FREE TO HARASS ME O_o
> 
> Thanks for reading :3  
> IT MEANS THE WORLD!!!


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